Born This Slave
by Amory Sparkly Bat
Summary: Glee Club's in a panic! The bank's foreclosing on Sam & he's about to be sent into a world of legal slavery. Kurt has a secret that MAY help him save Sam. But what will his friends think when they find out KURT's a slavemaster?  Kurtofsky slave!fic
1. Ch 1: Property Rights

****If you would like to read this on my livejournal instead of the evil ff net, you can find it at****

****pucktheperv [dot] livejournal [dot] com [slash] tag [slash] bornthisslave****

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****Warnings:****Slash, slave!fic, non-con, dub-con, h/c, kink, angst, fluffystuff, boysex,

****Pairings:****Kurtofsky (master!Kurt/slave!Dave), Sam/Dave, Others/Dave, Other Minor Pairings

****Summary: ****Everything is going well for Glee Club until a drop in the economy leaves one of their own in a desperate situation. The bank is foreclosing on Sam and he is about to be sent into a world of legal slavery - a trade that is entirely foreign to everyone except the highest of society. The situation seems helpless until Kurt comes forward with a secret that may save Sam's life—but it may also lose Kurt his friends when they find out that one of their own is, in fact, a slavemaster.

****About the Story: ****This is an AU based off the Glee world. All the Glee kids are students at McKinley, yaddayaddayadda, just like on the show but they live in a world where there is a treacherous system that allows for legal human slavery. It is both a hot political issue and a tradition passed down for generations. It's all explained throughout the story. What can I say? I love world building. So much I already have another chapter almost ready to go. :)

****A Note About the So-Called "Dangers" of Slave!fic: ****As you may have noticed if you've seen my main notaman, Dave's, new fic, Country Slave, I have been dying for some slave!fic in this fandom. (Go read it. It's sweet and cute and fabulous!) Glee fandom seems to have a weird idea that slave!fic is scary and horrifically dark when, in reality, most of what I've seen in my years in fandom has been created with a hurt/comfort base that allows for angst leading to eventual romance and happiness. This, like, most of my fics, is going to be a nice mix of heart-wrenching angst, silly jokes, and happy endings. (I am the Queen of Happily Ever After, people!) This fic will have its dark moments (if you've read Cell Mate then you probably know I love me some angst) and will address the psychological, sexual, and societal implications of slavery, however, it is, at heart, a romance between Kurt Hummel and Dave Karofsky, with some nice plot on the side. And there will be plenty of humorous moments, as well as a lot of 'ohmygoshthatssosweet' times between Kurt and Dave. So if you're afraid that slave!fic=darkness, brutality, and death… well, you should know better 'cause I luuuuv it and I ONLY read stories with happy endings and a nice dose of hurt/comfort on the side. :) So give it a try and tell me what you think… Just remember: The Harry Potter fandom is EFFING FULL OF SLAVE!FIC and it's a rockin' fandom. Gotta love me some "Yes, Master Snape" from Harry. ;P Finally, if you don't like slave!fic, that's fine. But please don't attack us kinky people. BDSMers are people too! ;)

o o o

**Chapter 1: Property Rights**

"Oh, God, Mr. Schue… I just... I just don't know what I'm going to do!" A choked sob. "I just want to die."

Kurt paused outside the choir room, a little startled. He had never heard Sam sound like that, not even after he'd given in and eaten six bags of Cool Ranch Doritos. He just sounded so... desperate. This was definitely not something that could be fixed in the bathroom with a finger down the throat.

Kurt bit his lip and took a small step back. It wouldn't *really* be eavesdropping if he just stood out here for a minute to powder his nose. It wasn't like he didn't have a legitimate for being outside the choir room. He couldn't leave his precious Prada clutch in there all by its lonesome, after all. It was probably furious at him for forgetting it, but the sweater-turned-monstrosity that Rachel was wearing today had been so distracting, it was amazing that he'd remembered his right arm. Or that he'd come away from the experience with his sight still intact. It had been tough not to claw out his own eyes. It really had.

"Don't worry, Sam. I'm gonna help you, okay? You're not alone."

Kurt held back a little gasp, his fingertips coming to rest on his chest. Dear God, he'd been right. Sam *was* gay. He should have *known* it. No straight boy would dye their hair Madonna blonde just for the hell of it.

"But how can you help? They're just gonna take me. There's not anything you can do."

Wait… they were just going to take him? Who, the gay patrol? Were his parents Baptists or something?

"Sam, this isn't right. It's immoral and disgusting."

Okay, now Kurt was confused. Mr. Schue didn't seem the homophobic type. No man who used that much hair product would dare to join Westboro—they'd burn him at the stake in an instant. And, with all that grease he smudged on his scalp, his head would be flaming in an instant, no gay-pun intended.

"It doesn't *matter*, Mr. Schue. The bank doesn't care. The corporations don't care. They're owned by members of the elite." He made a noise somewhere between a sniffle and a sob. "They're going to take me and do… do… I don't *know* what they're going to do, Mr. Schue. I just know that they're foreclosing on me."

Foreclosing on him… Oh God… It was worse than he had imagined. Way, *way* worse than he'd imagined. The members of Westboro Baptist would just beat the hell out of him, tie him to a fence, and leave him to die. The slavemasters, on the other hand… Citizens who became slaves rarely lived through training, but the short period before their unfortunate demise was probably the most horrific time of their lives. Kurt knew, in ways that none of the mess of middle class citizens at McKinley possibly could. He had experience living with the elite, had seen how slaves truly lived. And he knew how slaves were *trained*.

The elite claimed that slaves were 'born that way,' a real twist on Lady Gaga's good intentions. But whether you believed that or not, one thing was certain. If you didn't start them *young*, their minds didn't survive it.

"Look, the school gets three state slave scholarships each year to give to extraordinary slaves. And if anyone is extraordinary, it's you, Sam. You and I will go and talk to Figgins about getting you set up with one of those."

Ha. That was a joke. The state slave scholarships were a half-assed tactic to shut up the liberal media. Just another ploy by the slave trade to make the commoners comfortable with the fact that a class of people existed in their society who had no problem owning what the liberals considered to be "other humans." All a state slave scholarship did was give the slave's master a few bucks to let them "attend classes." Of course, they attended classes with other slaves—the slaves placed in the schools by private owners who simply enjoyed living vicariously through a pet who was stellar at football or cheerleading or could win a national spelling bee or something. And all those classes were was another form of slave training. In truth they made the unlucky corporately-owned slaves who were "gifted" with the scholarships less valuable because they took away the glory of being trained by a well known slavemaster. Any privately owned slave would definitely have received training on the side. Kurt's had.

If you wanted proof, you could see it branded into his ass.

The scholarships were a total joke and the slave classes were a waste of space. Hell, half the time private slave owners just let *their* slaves attend *regular* classes because the slave classes were so worthless. But those there on "scholarship" didn't rate that. They weren't worth the cost of text books.

The program produced its intended results, however, making the corporations who sponsored them look like "good guys" to the common people and keeping the Emancipation League's car-bombings down. So what the hell, right? The school board had no problem with it since the principals were allowed to choose the slaves and they always chose the types who would bring in extra funding and give the PTA a buzz. Top athletes. Special needs kids. Large breasted girls with pom-poms. Things like that.

Kurt wrapped his arms around himself, hugging his his chest, heart pounding a little too fast. His wished his slave was there to wrap his arms around. Its big chest always made him feel secure. Not that anything could really make this better. The idea that *Sam* was about to be taken into slavery… it just didn't want to compute. This wasn't possible. Sam would never *survive,* not with his mind intact, anyway. He was too much of, well... a *human*. He was opinionated and social and confident. Not the kind that trainers liked. But he was also beautiful, so, if worse came to wors,t he might not end up dead—he might end up a mindless toy sold off in the blackmarket fringe auctions that only the the dirtiest of slavers attended instead. Not exactly a stellar alternative

He had to do something. He couldn't just *stand* there while Mr. Schue monologued about his naive plans to play the teacher superhero. Kurt understood slavery, in a that way other common folk didn't. He had first hand experience. He knew all the secrets that the elite didn't want the average joe to know about the trade. And he knew that Mr. Schue's plans were flat out tomfoolery. But it wasn't as if he could really help. All the knowledge in the world couldn't help Sam now if the banks truly had a claim on him. And if he tried to help, his secret would come out. The secret that he'd worked his cute little butt off to keep under wraps so that his friends wouldn't scorn him. He knew how Tina and Mercedes and Rachel felt about slavery—they had started the school's chapter of SAS: Students Against Slavery for God's sake! Hell, Kurt had helped design the t-shirts! (Which were absolutely fabulous with their image of a purple sequined whip and the words 'Be SAS-y! Whip slavery!" on the front He'd made his poor slave wear one for a week.)

If his girlfriends had a clue that Kurt was a slavemaster, they'd never speak to him again. And he understood that. Emancipation was the in thing. The youth of every generation needed something to fight for and, once they'd realized that the rainforests were a lost cause and that nobody was ever going to treat women completely equal, they had turned against slavery.

The straightforwardness with which they despised it was simpleminded to say the least—the movement had its roots in the middle class and everything the middle class knew about the slave trade was a mix of erotic tales, false media, and pure myth. The slavemasters worked hard to make certain that the common people had no part in the trade, crafting legislation that called for an enormous yearly fee in order to acquire a Slavemaster's Permit. That way slaves could still be sold on the cheap, but they could be certain that all the buyers were of the elite class.

What always astounded Kurt was how none of his friends ever noticed that, despite how charged the issue was, none of the freedom fighters were ever slaves. Of course, the whole thing was founded in the naive notions of The People and, most likely, they just assumed the slaves were afraid or unable to come forward to fight for themselves. After all, a lot of corporate money went into making certain that the corporate owned slaves who did every day work like manning cash registers and driving taxis acted as "normal" or "human" as possible when in the presence of commoners. And any slave who violated this unspoken law quickly found themselves involved in a tragic accident. The common people never got to see slaves in their natural setting, under the watch of the elite class. There, they were a whole different species. Which was, of course, the elites' one last grip on morality. It was believed that slaves were a different species, _homo servus_, with lesser minds and perhaps even a lack of soul. They considered it a *gift* to the slaves that they would care for them, since their lesser kind surely couldn't exist in this world on their own. And all that was owed to them in return was the slaves' complete and utter obedience.

Kurt was the son of a working man at heart—the elite was *not* what he wanted to be—but even he wasn't sure on this point. He knew slaves. He *had* a slave. And while it might be arguable whether or not they were physically human, they definitely didn't think like any freeman Kurt had ever met.

Which was, of course, why the retraining of freemen as slaves did not tend to succeed. Hell, private slave owners wouldn't even waste their time looking at what the banks called their 'First Generation Slaves.' Mostly they were bought off by large companies and stuck doing the worst of jobs, digging in garbage all day, or purchased by newly rich businessmen looking for little more than a living blow up doll.

Many of the "old money" slave owners actually thought it was morally disgusting. After all, if slaves were a separate species, born that way, then freemen couldn't be 'retrained' into slaves. But with the economy tanking and quick money to be made through corporate buyouts of poorly trained First-gens, the banks were running wild, letting everyone and sundry take out loans on themselves or on anyone whom they had guardianship over.

But surely, surely Sam's parents wouldn't have been stupid enough to do that? Everyone knew that the banks targeted only the most desperate with their slaving schemes, knowing they'd turn a profit on the re-sale. Well, everyone in the elite knew that, and anyone who had a finger in the slave trade. Probably your everyday American man just thought it was a good way to save his house. Banks could make anything seem pretty—they just covered up the ugly fine print with silky lies.

"—really think this will work? Oh, thank you so much, Mr. Schue!"

Apparently Kurt had missed a bit of the conversation, lost in his horrified thoughts, because Sam was now in Mr. Schue's arms, crying in relief as the older man patted him tenderly on the back. They had absolutely no idea what they were up against.

What to do? If he let them know their plan was insane, everyone would find out about his little secret. He'd be forced to tell them-how else would he explain his in depth understanding of all things slavery? Maybe he could say that he'd taken a class? No, they didn't *offer* classes on this stuff. That he'd just figured it all out in his head? Ha. Einstein couldn't have figured out the complex web of half-truths and subtle lies that was the slave trade. You had to have insider knowledge. Kind of like playing the stock market blindfolded.

He could just do nothing. Sam would get what was coming to him—or that was what the bank would say, anyway. His life would be destroyed and he might not even survive a years. Or worse, he *might* survive, trapped in a life where he'd rather be dead. They counted on the fact that the First-gens would be tossed into the system knowing absolutely nothing, and then they gave them the crash course. To be a slave you had to live with a certain mindset. Some people might call it brainwashing. But whatever it was, it was incomprehensible to a freeman's mind and the punishments for thinking outside that 'slave box' were brutal.

If he worked with Sam, shared his knowledge, they might be able to figure out *some* way for him to end up in tolerable existence, at least. It *was* possible to bail oneself out of slave training. Born-slaves were registered at birth, but First-gens weren't registered until they finished their training. That way, if they killed themselves during training, the bank could still hold their family responsible for the unpaid loan since they had not yet made them "officially" a slave, a form of insurance that guaranteed the bank would be paid off in some way. Until Sam was registered, his parents could buy him back. Training would start immediately, but it lasted six months. Six months was a good amount of time. Maybe the Glee club could work to raise the money?

Of course, the real risk was that Sam's mind could be broken in a week, and then what was the point? But once again, a slave's survival depended on its' mindset. Freemen tended to break down because that slave mindset was too non-sensical to integrate it into their thinking and, without that ability to analyze their actions as a slave would, they couldn't bear it. But if Sam had someone to explain it to him, a sort of mentor who could teach him how to survive… A true slave, born to his place to help him… Maybe, just maybe, he could make it through.

Kurt took a deep breath, steeling himself. His mind was made up. Sam was his friend, and a freeman, and Kurt couldn't abandon him to this. His friends would either come to understand why Kurt kept a slave or they wouldn't. It would be painful, but losing his friends wouldn't destroy his life, not in the way this would destroy Sam's anyway. He could make new friends and he would still have his slave, ever faithful, to be there for him. It was time to be the bigger person.

"Your plan won't work."

Sam and Mr. Schue practically jumped apart, staring with wide eyes as Kurt waltzed into the choir room, his fuscia sweater flowing like a cape behind him. He was Kurt, Supermaster. Whether that was a hero or villain, he wasn't really sure.

He came to a halt in the center of the room and put a hand on his hip, taking on a sassy pose. "My mother's family are members of the elite. I've spent three weeks out of every summer at their manor house my whole life. They own over thirty slaves. I have been to slave auctions, watched training sessions, and spent time with the most adamant members of the pro-slavery factions." He paused. Might as well be dramatic while he could. "And... I own a slave. I *know* how the slave trade works and I can tell you that it is *nothing* like the myth they portray. I can't say for certain what I believe regarding the ethics of keeping slaves, but I can tell you that I believe the re-training of freemen into slavery is immoral, a wretched process that the greediest of business tycoons use for their own profit. And most of the elite would agree with me on that issue. But that *doesn't* mean that they will lift a single finger to stop it and it *definitely* doesn't mean that your little plan to 'Save the Sam,'" Kurt made quotation marks in the air, making a face, "will help him in any way. No freeman can go into slavery and live a happy life, and a thousand scholarships won't change that."

Mr. Schue's mouth was hanging open and Sam's eyes looked like saucers. Kurt swallowed down the sick feeling in his gut. They could think what they wanted. They needed his help.

"Kurt…" Mr. Schue said slowly, Sam looking like maybe he was going to hyperventilate. "I don't know that-"

Kurt held up a hand. "Wait, please. Hear me out. Like I said: No freeman can go into slavery and live a happy life. The only chance Sam has is to begin training and hope that we can come up with a way to pay off the loan that was taken out on him before the six months is up and he is registered as a slave. After that he will be a slave for life and his children will be slaves and his children's children will be slaves. And somehow I *don't* think he wants that."

Mr. Schue's forhead wrinkled up his mouth twisting into a weird sort of face. "I agree that slavery is obviously *not* what we want for Sam, but this is not the Dark Ages, Kurt. Emancipation is coming." He gave Sam a supportive look, though his smile was definitely forced. "Even now the state is working to help slaves be more educated through its scholarship programs."

Kurt let out a short laugh. "It's a bunch of bullshit, Mr. Schue, if you will excuse my Français. I know this because I *know* the slave trade. They don't expect people like you to understand it, which is why they manage to actually encourage slavery and still come off looking like the good guy with their little scholarship farce."

"W-wait," Sam said, his voice rough. "You… you're a *slavemaster*?"

Okay, someone was running a few steps behind.

Kurt took a deep breath, holding his chin up high. He had nothing to be ashamed of. He loved his slave—it was his most precious possession. And he had no problem with freedom fighters. His *slave* was the one disgusted by emancipation. To turn his slave loose was what would be the ultimate cruelty. Like... like abandoning a child in a Macy's dressing room. Kurt had actually done that to his slave once, in a fit of annoyance, and when he had returned for the big lug it had cried for an hour. He'd felt guilty enough that he'd actually let it loose in the food court, God help his credit card. Eight slices of New York style pizza, two plates of orange chicken, sixteen buffalo wings, a gallon of Big Red, and one of those giant cookie-cake things later the tears were dried and his slave weighed twice as much as when they'd gone in.

"Yes," he said, voice flat. "Though I don't like to spread it around. I am proud to be the son of a common man, but my grandparents are elite. I honestly am not comfortable in that environment and would never want to live in that class, much to my grandparents' disappointment. My mother was their only child and they were horrified when she married a working man. But my slave was given to me by them and I care for it very, very much. It is my prize." He sniffed and ran a finger along his bangs. "We could probably discuss the ethics of slavery for a month, but right now we don't have time. When are they foreclosing on you, Sam?"

The boy just stared at him for a long moment. He was probably deciding whether he wanted anything to do with Kurt or not now that he knew he was a slavemaster. Apparently self preservation overcame disgust, however, because he let out a loud sigh, running his big palms through his very-much-dyed mop of blonde as he looked nervously up at the ceiling like it might magically have some answers. "Three days. Today was our final notice. And I can't run, Kurt. If I do, they'll arrest my father and they might take my little sister or brother." He sniffled, rubbing at his nose with the back of his hand. "I don't know what to do."

It was soon, but that was to be expected. They *didn't* want him to run, after all. "Mr. Schue is right about one thing: We can't stop them from taking you, though his idea to let it happen then try and help you be a happy slave on a scholarship or whatever is just laughable. But we *can* prepare you for what's to come and help you survive the training period so that we can raise the money to bail you out."

"Wait... Did you just say you'd help me *survive* the training period?" Sam questioned, a terrified look on his face.

Kurt sighed. They really had no idea what they were dealing with. The poor boy probably thought he was gonna be given a job mowing lawns for an hour a day or something. Trained to, like, dust the living room once a week and make sure the DVDs were stacked neatly.

"It's not going to be easy, Sam. And we're also going to have to be real careful that the bank doesn't realize what we're doing. They want you to get through training, but they *don't* want you to be bailed out. They will make way more money off the sale of a young, attractive male like you than whatever the minimum return on the loan is." He reached out to the boy, trying to ignore the flash of pain when Sam took a pointed step back. Willing to accept his help, but not what he was.

"Slave training is brutal for a freeman. You're thrown into a world that you know nothing about, being punished for things you don't understand. My slave can help you, though. He's a true slave and he'll be able to sort of mentor you. You know, explain what they expect of you and whatnot. Because they don't bother to tell you. They want you to have to figure it out." Kurt paused, frowning a little. "What we need to figure out is how to make sure that your training is here in Lima. They can move you wherever they want and they likely will. They want to cut all the ties to your life as a freeman. And even if you survived the training without coaching, we might never be able to find you after we come up with the money. Banks are really in this to trap people in slavery, not to get their loans back."

"Oh, God," Sam muttered, all the blood rushing from his face, his tan skin turning an unhealthy shade of white. "I hadn't even thought of that. Of course they wouldn't want me to be near my family and my friends and stuff!" A tear slipped from his eye and he wiped it away with the collar of his t-shirt. "They're not just gonna take me away, they're gonna take me away to someplace where I don't know anybody!"

"Wait a second," Mr. Schue said slowly, raising a hand in thought. "I might have an idea… We were talking about the state slave scholarships—"

Kurt made a sound of annoyance. "Mr. Schue, we don't have time to argue this. Please, please, *please* just believe me that those things are worthless."

"No, I believe you, Kurt," Mr. Schue said, holding up his hands. "I... I know that I was being maybe overly hopeful. I'm not totally blind—I realize that emancipation is a long, long way off. And if slaves aren't emancipated in our lifetime then a slave scholarship isn't going to do anything but put off the inevitable. I just figured it was better than doing *nothing.* But what if we used it to our advantage? Schools are allowed to select the slaves who receive their scholarships, after all..."

Kurt raised an eyebrow. It wasn't a bad idea. Maybe he needed to give Mr. Schue more credit. "That might work."

"But you said I'll be in training," Sam said, looking worried. "That I won't be, like, registered yet? Could I *get* a slave scholarship then?"

A fair question. Kurt wasn't entirely sure...

"You can," Mr. Schue said firmly and Kurt looked at him with interest. "I *do* know that. I know they can give them to seized freemen in slave training, because Sue's done it."

"Sue?" Kurt asked, frowning.

"You know Becky Johnson? Her parents lost her because of all the medical bills associated with her Down Syndrome last year. Sue threatened to launch a missile inside Principal Figgins' church if he didn't give Becky a scholarship so that Sue could watch out for her." Mr. Schue tugged at the edge of his sweater vest, looking excited. "If we can just convince Figgins to give a scholarship to Sam so that he can stay in Glee Club... Maybe tell him that we need him to help us win at Regionals? Then we'll have the time to get the money together *and* your, uh," he cleared his throat, "erm, your slave," Mr. Schue stumbled over the word, looking uncomfortable, "can help Sam get through this without any trauma."

'Without any trauma' sounded like high hopes to Kurt, but overall the plan wasn't bad. It wasn't bad at all. "You think Figgins would go for it?"

Mr. Schue took a deep breath, fists clenching. "I'll find a way to convince him. If I have to, I'll pull a Sue. I'm sure Sandy Ryerson knows where I can get roofies, then it will be blackmail city." He reached out, roughly hugging the Sam. "Don't worry, kiddo. The Glee Club is family, and we're not going to let them take one of ours."

o o o

"William, you know very well that all of our state-given slave scholarships have been taken by the very limber members of the Cheerios!"

"Oh, come on! Half of the Cheerios are privately owned slaves, funded by their own masters! Surely you can spare a single scholarship for someone *other* than Sue!"

Principal Figgins sat back dramatically in his chair, hands waving in the air. "Those scholarships are very much coveted! I owe it to the school to use them for our best interests! The Cheerios win national championships! Your Glee Club does mattress commercials! There is no way that I can justify removing one of the slaves in the Cheerios so that your little beach boy over there can do the Twist!"

"Vocal Adrenaline is full of slaves!" Mr. Schue protested as he slammed a palm down on Figgins' desk. "Obviously Carmel can spare some scholarships for the Glee Club!"

"Once again, their Glee Club is a *national champion*, William, and the majority of their slaves are privately owned! Masters with talented young slaves seek out programs such as that and foot the bill on the whim that their pet might turn into a pop superstar one day! The next Key-Dollar-Sign-Ha! We must use our slave scholarships to bring in the most talented to help the *successful* programs so that other masters will also bring their slaves to take part in these programs!" He shook his head derisively. "We are a public education facility, William! These freemen's children bring in no money! But the private masters *pay* for their slaves to attend! And they want them to attend with champions, not the members of Hanson!" He rubbed his fingers together in the international symbol for cold, hard cash. "It is all about dollars, William. I am sorry, but there is nothing I can do."

"It's all about dollars, huh?" Kurt said suddenly, moving forward from where he'd been lurking off in the corner. They'd been arguing long enough. Kurt had to do something. What could he say? He just didn't trust Mr. Schuester's blackmailing abilities. He was a talented man but he had nothing on Sue Sylvester when it came to vicious.

Mr. Schue shot him a strange look and Kurt waved it away, marching forward until he was standing right in front of Principal Figgins' desk, arms crossed over his chest. "And how much *does* a privately owned slave bring in per year for the school? Quite a bit, I believe. Somewhere around the range of… hm…" He tapped his fingers on Figgins' desk, pretending to contemplate the question. "Six thousand dollars? That goes a long way toward renovating the library, Principal Figgins." He paused, frowning. "It would be very sad if a slave you counted on for tuition was removed by his master… Hm… And just who has a slave that you rely on for tuition?"

Sam made a surprised sound and Mr. Schue kind of sounded like he was going to choke. Kurt ignored them. Yeah, his slave went to McKinley. Surprise. He stared down at Principal Figgins', delighting in the darkening of the man's face.

"Really, young Mr. Hummel, why *is* it that you are so very concerned about Mr. Evans' schooling?" Kurt didn't like the suspicious tone of Figgins' voice so he flashed his most diva grin. "Schooling? Who said anything about me caring about *schooling*? I care about Glee Club! Sam is one of our best singers—and pretty much the only boy willing to do a duet with me! As a gay teen, I appreciate that support."

Figgins' began to speak, a scowl on his face, but whatever he had been about to say was interrupted when the door slammed open and Coach Sylvester stormed in, a tornado in a yellow track suit, her face making Hurricane Katrina look like a gentle breeze.

"What is this I hear about you taking away one of *my* slave scholarships, Figgins?"

The principal blinked up at her, obviously surprised. "Sue… how in the world did you hear about that? It cannot be around the school already!"

The woman snorted, a disgusted look on her face. "Did you *really* think that paperweight I gave you for Christmas was just a paperweight? Hidden camera, Figgins!" She pointed threateningly at him. "You would be *amazed* the things I know!"

"Oh, for goodness' sake, Sue! A hidden camera? What is this fascination you have with spy gear? First the tranqualizers in your fountain pen, now *hidden cameras?* Are you to become the next James Bond?"

"Don't try to change the subject, Figgins! I'll drive an Aston Martin if I damn well please! But you are *not* giving one of my scholarships to Ken doll over there!"

"They are not *your* scholarships, Sue! They belong to the *school*! I will give them out as I see fit!"

Sue glowered at him, lip curling. "And you think it's A-okay to take a scholarship away from one of my Cheerios in the *middle of the year* just so Schuester can get his rocks off looking at someone with hair more ridiculous than his own?"

"I didn't say that, Sue!" He frowned at Kurt, who raised an eyebrow pointedly. It was all about they money. Figgins sighed. "But perhaps is *is* unfair that you have all three scholarships, Sue. I mean, perhaps slaves who are not cheerleader material deserve a chance to attend McKinley."

Sue moved around Figgins' desk, leaning over him, her voice low. "I have *proved* myself, Figgins! I have six storage units filled to the brim with trophies to show that *I* bring prestige to this school! You start taking my scholarships, I may be taking my squad elsewhere!"

"Sue," Figgins said, voice exhasperated. "Really, you cannot spare *one* Cheerio? Not even one of your best ones! Just one of the state supported ones!"

"I am a *winner*, Figgins. I have brought *so* much to this school. All Schuester has done is scare away charitable donations with the smell of lard wafting from his hair!"

"You know what?" Mr. Schue said suddenly, leaning forward in his seat, an almost wicked look on his face. "Maybe Sue is right."

Sue straightened abruptly. "Is 2012 here already? I think the world just ended. Just in time for you to finally come to your senses."

Mr. Schue ignored the woman, eyeing Figgins seriously. "How about this? Give Sam the scholarship. If we win at Regionals, he gets to keep it until Nationals. If we win at Nationals, he gets it for next year, too. We lose, Sue can have it back."

"Oh, that is a bunch of bullhinky!" Sue snapped her fingers in Mr. Schue's general direction.

Principal Figgins ran a finger across his chin thoughtfully, thinking for a moment, then glanced over at Kurt. "This is acceptable to you, Mr. Hummel?"

It wasn't a bad deal. Regionals was only three months away, but that would give them *some* time at least. And if they won at Regionals then they'd have another three months until Nationals. After that, it wouldn't matter, because Sam would either be a freeman once more or be registered as a slave.

"It's acceptable," he said shortly.

"And your slave will remain at McKinley?"

"Yes. I will keep it at McKinely."

Figgins clapped his hands together, a bright smile on his face. "Wonderful! We are all agreed!"

"I don't remember agreeing to this!" Sue shouted as they all began to move toward the door.

Kurt smiled supportively at Sam as he moved up next to him, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder as they entered the hallway. "Don't worry, Sam. We're going to fix this."

"Thank you, Kurt," Sam replied quietly, sniffling a little. "I guess if anyone can do something unbelievable, it's you. You can dress pretty unbelievable, anyway."

Kurt only hoped he was right.


	2. Ch 2: Gleemergency

****If you would like to read this on my livejournal instead of the evil ff net, you can find it at****

****pucktheperv [dot] livejournal [dot] com [slash] tag [slash] bornthisslave****

o o o****  
><strong>**

****Warnings:****Slash, slave!fic, non-con, dub-con, h/c, kink, angst, fluffystuff, boysex,

****Pairings:****Kurtofsky (master!Kurt/slave!Dave), Sam/Dave, Sam/Kurt, Others/Dave, Klaine, Dave/Kurt, Other Minor Pairings

****Summary: ****Everything is going well for Glee Club until a drop in the economy leaves one of their own in a desperate situation. The bank is foreclosing on Sam and he is about to be sent into a world of legal slavery - a trade that is entirely foreign to everyone except the highest of society. The situation seems helpless until Kurt comes forward with a secret that may save Sam's life—but it may also lose Kurt his friends when they find out that one of their own is, in fact, a slavemaster.

****About the Story: ****This is an AU based off the Glee world. All the Glee kids are students at McKinley, yaddayaddayadda, just like on the show but they live in a world where there is a treacherous system that allows for legal human slavery. It is both a hot political issue and a tradition passed down for generations. It's all explained throughout the story. What can I say? I love world building. So much I already have another chapter almost ready to go. :)

****A Note About the So-Called "Dangers" of Slave!fic: ****Glee fandom seems to have a weird idea that slave!fic is scary and horrifically dark when, in reality, most of what I've seen in my years in fandom has been created with a hurt/comfort base that allows for angst leading to eventual romance and happiness. This, like, most of my fics, is going to be a nice mix of heart-wrenching angst, silly jokes, and happy endings. (I am the Queen of Happily Ever After, people!)

**Notes:** Sorry this is short-this and chapter 3 were one chapter but it was too long to fit on my LJ, so I cut em up. Okay, with this chapter and the next, I have finally finished SETTING UP the premise for the damn story, LOL. And I already have quite a bit more written, just gotta do some more re-writes. You'll be getting just Kurt/Dave interaction in the next chapter... and a hint of smut. ;)

o o o

**Chapter 2: Gleemergency  
><strong>

"Oh my God, what do you think is wrong?" Rachel questioned, tugging on her ugly teal scarf nervously as she, Mercedes, and Kurt did their three-abreast diva walk down the hall. "Do you think Finn has laryngitis? We won't have a CHANCE at Regionals without him!"

Kurt resisted the urge to roll his eyes, turning his lip up prissily. As if Finn was the only talented male in Glee Club!

"I seriously doubt Mr. Schue would have gotten us passes for last period just to tell us *that*," Mercedes said, looking understandably nervous. She, at least, realized there were worse things in the universe than not getting a trophy for a high school sing along. "Whatever it is, it must be super important."

"Yeah. Oh my God, do you think Mr. Ryerson molested Puck again?"

Mercedes made a face. "I'm really not sure Puck gives a damn," she said, her cell phone pressed to her ear. "Let me get Tina…"

The door to the girl's bathroom swung open just as they passed and Tina stepped out, joining the diva line. Maybe they could do a can-can at the end of the hall.

"Hi ladies!" she said, adjusting the tiny top hat balanced on her head. "Did you hear about the emergency meeting?"

"Yeah, Mr. Schue told Kurt and he called Rachel and she texted me," Mercedes said, looking down when her phone beeped. "Oh, and Santana just put it on her Facebook. I wonder what's going on?"

"Oh my God, you don't think Mike broke his leg, do you?" Tina asked, eyes wide. "We'll won't have a CHANCE at Regionals without him!"

Kurt hid his scowl, making a little 'hmph'ing noise. As if Mike was the only talented dancer in Glee Club. Whatever. Let them underestimate his Broadway diva talent. He had other, more pressing matters to worry about, like how he was going to introduce his slave to his liberation-loving lady friends.

"Yo, Fancy, nice hat!" a masculine voice called out suddenly, making Kurt jump slightly. "It's got so many feathers in it, I bet it's worth its weight in chickens!"

Laughter erupted from the gathered group of retards, also known as jocks, who were leaning against the lockers on the far side of the hall. Kurt's jaw tightened slightly at the rude smirk Dave Karofsky shot him. The little ass. Artie's head peeked around the other boy's big back and Kurt rolled his eyes. Great, Glee Clubbers were now part of their pack. As if Puck wasn't enough of a traitor, now Artie?

"Are you guys coming?" Kurt said loudly, ignoring Dave's lip completely. The jumbo giant would just say it had given Kurt what he'd asked for. But feathered hats were classy, dammit! "Come on, Dumb and Dumber. Glee Club emergency meeting."

Artie glanced up at Puck as if asking his permission and the boy made a face, glancing over at his moronic friends. "Sorry, Kurt, but we got plans to kidnap Jacob Ben Israel and put him in a giant hamster ball."

They had plans to… nevermind. Kurt didn't want to know.

"Don't you want last period off, Noah?" Rachel questioned. The offer obviously interested mohawk man because his hand not so subtly dropped down to rub at his crotch. Ick.

"Seriously? And no d-hall for cutting? That's pretty awesome. I haven't done my bio homework in three months and I'm pretty sure it's due today." He shrugged at his friends then reached out to grab the handles on Artie's wheelchair. "Sorry dudes, I gotta blow. Free period off and all that."

"Wait," Dave said, eyes meeting Kurt's for an instant before they looked away, "why the hell is the Happy Crew getting last period off?"

"Yeah, that ain't fair!" Azimio said, shoving Dave's shoulder in a manly show of solidarity. "How come we don't get no last period off?"

"Well," Kurt said, his voice drippingly sweet, "if you boys want to join the Glee Club, feel free to tag along! We're practicing a fabulous new mash-up today! The Village People's 'Macho Man' meets Elton John's 'The Bitch Is Back'!"

Azimio grimaced and began to mimic vomiting motions, making Dave laugh.

"Oh, no takers? Hm. Too bad. Toodle loo!" He wiggled his fingers at them, smirking.

"Freaking queers," Dave muttered, reaching out to shove at Kurt's shoulder as he walked past. Kurt made a point to stumble dramatically to the side, letting out a girlish shriek despite the fact that the boy's fingers had barely brushed him. What could he say? He was proud to be a drama queen.

"Back off, Dumbo!" Mercedes snapped as she wrapped an arm around Kurt's small waist, steering him away from the jocks. "Come on Puck, come on, Artie. Time to start thinking with your upstairs brains again."

The Glee boys obediently parted from the other jocks, the promise of a shortened school day reason enough to abandon their testosterone fest, but Kurt slowed, glancing over his shoulder to get a look at Dave. The boy was standing there staring at Kurt in a way that looked rather intimidating, thought Kurt recognized it for the worry that it was.

"Excuse me, ladies," Kurt said primly, prying himself away from Mercedes' tight grip. "But I think I am going to have a few words with *that* before we leave." He nodded back in the general direction of the enormous boy. He could take the time to explain what was going on to Dave and have the slave meet them after school.

"Oh Kurt," Mercedes said, her voice a little chastising. "Don't. He's a knuckle dragging imbecile. You can't let him get to you!"

But he *really* needed to talk to Dave. What was about to go down today could change Kurt's life and anything that changed Kurt's life changed Dave's as well. Plus he really doubted the slave was going to like the idea of helping Sam through training. Born-slaves really believed that they were, well, born slaves and the idea that anyone could be "trained" to be a slave seemed like heresy to them. Not that it wouldn't try its best—Dave would try to fly off a building if Kurt told it to—but convincing it that it was even possible was going to be a very difficult task. Ironic, since *flying* wasn't possible but it'd try that if Kurt said it should.

"You need to leave him alone, Kurt," Rachel said, her voice superior. "I, of all people, know what it's like to be taunted. You just have to be the better person and remember that someday they will be cleaning your gutters while you have brunch with Barbara Streisand!"

"Besides," Tina said quietly, touching his arm gently. "We don't want him to hurt you."

"Oh fine," Kurt said with a sigh, giving in to the fact that he'd never get away from his guardian angels long enough to talk to the big lug. He'd find some other way to contact it.

"You know," Mercedes said conversationally as they started off down the hall. "I bet if they didn't have slavery that we wouldn't have half as many jerks like that. You know Karofsky is a slave. Here on a sports scholarship or something. He's probably such an asshole 'cause his master keeps him in a shed out back to do the yard or something. I bet he thinks he can just act like an animal because they treat him like an animal. No respect for anyone." She shook her head in disgust and Kurt's face reddened slightly.

Keep his slave in a shed out back, did he? Let it run around like an animal? Please. As if *any* slavemaster would let his slave act like an animal. For all her anti-slave vigor, Mercedes didn't have a clue.

"I wouldn't be so quick to judge," he said, voice coming out a little snotty. "Not everything bad in the world is linked to the slave trade, Mercedes. Are we now excusing bullies just because they wear a collar?"

No, they were excusing bullies who wore collars who had been ordered by their masters to *be* bullies. But Mercedes didn't need to know that.

She sighed in annoyance. "No, Kurt. You know that's not what I meant. I'm just saying, if he weren't an absolute ass, I would feel sorry for Karofsky. Once his scholarship is over he'll probably never get to do anything normal again. Even jerks like him don't deserve to be kept like cattle. I bet his life sucks when he's not at school. Slavemasters are just disgusting. No if, ands, or buts about it."

The other girls murmured their agreement and Kurt's stomach dropped a little. If that's how they felt about the master they didn't know, what were they going to think about *him*? They'd probably never speak to him again and, once again, he'd be left all alone in the world, his friendships nothing more than a sad memory. Just like after his mom had died.

No, he wouldn't be alone. Not totally. He would still have Dave, after all. But a slave wasn't the same thing as a friend. And he'd never had a friend quite as fabulous as Mercedes. The thought of her hating him made him sick.

Kurt really hoped Sam appreciated what he was doing for him.


	3. Ch 3: Freedom Fighting

****If you would like to read this on my livejournal instead of the evil ff net, you can find it at****

****pucktheperv [dot] livejournal [dot] com [slash] tag [slash] bornthisslave****

o o o****  
><strong>**

****Warnings:****Slash, slave!fic, non-con, dub-con, h/c, kink, angst, fluffystuff, boysex,

****Pairings:****Kurtofsky (master!Kurt/slave!Dave), Sam/Dave, Sam/Kurt, Others/Dave, Klaine, Dave/Kurt, Other Minor Pairings

****Summary: ****Everything is going well for Glee Club until a drop in the economy leaves one of their own in a desperate situation. The bank is foreclosing on Sam and he is about to be sent into a world of legal slavery - a trade that is entirely foreign to everyone except the highest of society. The situation seems helpless until Kurt comes forward with a secret that may save Sam's life—but it may also lose Kurt his friends when they find out that one of their own is, in fact, a slavemaster.

****About the Story: ****This is an AU based off the Glee world. All the Glee kids are students at McKinley, yaddayaddayadda, just like on the show but they live in a world where there is a treacherous system that allows for legal human slavery. It is both a hot political issue and a tradition passed down for generations. It's all explained throughout the story. What can I say? I love world building. So much I already have another chapter almost ready to go. :)

****A Note About the So-Called "Dangers" of Slave!fic: ****Glee fandom seems to have a weird idea that slave!fic is scary and horrifically dark when, in reality, most of what I've seen in my years in fandom has been created with a hurt/comfort base that allows for angst leading to eventual romance and happiness. This, like, most of my fics, is going to be a nice mix of heart-wrenching angst, silly jokes, and happy endings. (I am the Queen of Happily Ever After, people!)

**Notes:** Okay, with this chapter, I have finally finished SETTING UP the premise for the damn story, LOL. And I already have quite a bit more written, just gotta do some more re-writes. You'll be getting just Kurt/Dave interaction in the next chapter... and a hint of smut. ;)

o o o

**Chapter 3: Freedom Fighting**

Kurt glanced around Mr. Schue's apartment, looking with mild interest at the line of Playbills displayed on a little shelf. It was strange being at his teacher's place. The Glee Club had been there before, but that had been for a special occasion. Of course, he supposed that this *was* a special occasion. It just wasn't a *good* occasion.

Kurt abandoned his scrutiny of Mr. Schue's knick knacks, returning to the recliner where he'd been sitting. They were all just sort of sitting around the living room, chatting idly while as they waited. Mr. Schue had sent them ahead with the key, saying he needed to make sure all the teachers knew why the New Directions kids were absent, and they were all there except for the teacher and Sam. Kurt assumed Mr. Schue had probably wanted to talk to him about how they were going to explain this… incident. In private. It was probably going to take some time to find a place to talk that Sue didn't have bugged. He assumed that was why they were at Mr. Schue's apartment anyway.

Puck and Finn had moved some of the chairs in from the kitchen so that everyone had a seat, Brittany and Santana snuggling on one side of the sofa while Tina and Mercedes sat more appropriately spaced on the side that wasn't on the Island of Lesbos. Puck and Finn were arm wrestling while Artie cheered them on and Rachel was lecturing a bored looking Lauren about the importance of supporting Puckerman's Jewish heritage by giving him a Yom Kippur gift. Quinn was busy in the kitchen playing the hostess in another person's house, Mike helping her by carrying drinks into the living room.

"I just can't imagine what is going on!" Mercedes said as she reached out to grabbed a Diet Coke with a little umbrella in it. Kurt wondered idly for a moment if Mr. Schue actually had little toothpick umbrellas in his kitchen or if girls like Quinn carried those sort of things in their purses. "I mean, bringing us all to his apartment? That's a little weird" She looked over at Kurt, obviously expecting him to chime in with his own theory, but he glanced away, not feeling very comfortable meeting her eyes at the moment.

Knowing that you were going to have to admit to your best friend that you'd been lying to her for the past four years did not for comfortable times make.

Kurt reached into his pocket, pulling out his iPhone. He needed to contact Dave and let it know that it needed to come to Mr. Schue's. After all, if he was going to come clean, he might as well make it a show and tell. And it wouldn't hurt to have the moral support if all of the girls suddenly leapt upon him and tried to claw off his sweater. But how to get ahold of it? Maybe he could pretend like he was calling his dad or something…

Kurt touched the screen of the phone, bringing it to life. His lips tilted into a small frown as a message came up informing that he had 21 new text messages. He had checked his phone an hour ago! And they were *all* from his slave? He hadn't thought that it could work out the words for that many text messages in less than the seven days it took to create the universe. It must be really worried.

21 NEW TEXT MESSAGES FROM** Table**

Wait, *Table*? Kurt held back a chuckle.

**Table:** Maahstr mae i ask what goin ahn?

He'd forgotten he'd changed its contact name to 'Table' last week. A funny story, actually. The kind of thing he kind of wished he could share with the girls. Dave had been bent over, dusting something, with no shirt on, and Kurt had made a joke that its back was so big he should just use it as a table. That would have been the end of it except that his slave, distracted by his work, had mistaken the joke for actual sentiment and immediately gotten down on all fours and started moving the contents of the bedside table to his back. Which had made Kurt laugh his ass off. The poor dummy had been so confused, looking more and more frustrated as Kurt just giggled and giggled, pointing out that Kurt had used it for a table before and it had always done a very good job and why wasn't Master pleased now? All the while balancing a little pink vase of daffodils, a silver handled hair brush, a polka dotted alarm clock, and a sock monkey on its back. Because that wasn't ridiculous looking *at all.* It was one thing to set a glass of sparkling cider on a slave at an elite party-sock monkeys and hair brushes were a whole nother matter. Finally Kurt had just declared that, if it wanted to be a table so badly, he'd just change it's name to Table. And then had been sent into giggles again when it had nodded solemnly and told him that, if it pleased Master Kurt, it would be glad to answer to Table.

He'd spent the next three days calling it Table, breaking into giggles at the wild-eyed looks his father would shoot him when he'd order Table to come to the table and serve them dinner.

**Table:** uhm Masstr?

**Table:** Masstur Kirt?

Oh dear heaven, spelling his name wrong *again?* Good Lord, how many hours did they have to spend staring at it before the fool got that the middle letter was a 'u.' Well, at least it wasn't spelling it with a 'c' anymore. Or a 'q.' Kurt had not enjoyed seeing his name spelled 'Quirt.' When asked, it had stated that it had come across a squirt gun box in Azimio's car and had thought that Kurt was a shortened form of Squirt. Kurt had not been amused. Okay, he'd been amused, but in a really sour way. Damn Azimio.

**Table:** u lehft skuul urlee.

Kurt's lip twitched in amusement. So he had. God, you could practically taste the curiosity in the comment. The boy was *dying* to ask.

**Table:** may i ask if ur O K?

Cheeky bitch. Weren't we just the nosy one today?

**Table:** i No its not mi plase 2 ask whayre u r.

Ah, having second thoughts about its nosiness, was it?

**Table:** b-kahz it is not mi biznis

No, it wasn't.

**Table:** butt i am sort of wurreed 4 Mahstir

Aw. It was really kind of sweet.

**Table:** so whayr r u mi Masstur?

**Table:** i look 4ward 2 mi dissiplynn 4 askeeng

**Table:** caus it not my plase 2 ask

**Table:** 456780jhbgvfdy678i87654fvb567

**Table:** sorriy azhim EO grabd mi fone

**Table:** I like girls with big fat titties!

**Table:** DAMM IT sorri Maastiir. aZim EO haz nutz 4 brainzes

Kurt had to choke back his laughter, eyes wide. Yeah, Azimio was definitely using his lower parts to think at the moment.

**Table:** thaynk u Mastur Kirt

Ah, a random 'thank you.' Slaves did that a lot.

**Table:** thaaat wuz ent rite. Speld rawng. Mastuhr KURT. K-U-R-T! C I remimber?

Good boy.

**Table:** ur slayve got 2 go du sprentz now or coach beezst sahy she mayk me eet a pijuns poopi pantees 4 dinner hahahah. U R OK RITE?

**Table:** rite?

**Table:** Mahster ok rite?

**Table:** WHOEVER THE HAILING HELL THIS IS, THESE TEXTS ARE STOPPING NOW SURE AS A HITCHHIKING GOPHER DOES THE POLKA WITH PRINCE!

Ah, Coach Bieste, such genteel turn of phrase. A true Shakespeare on steroids.

Kurt shook his head, beginning to type his reply.

SEND TEXT MESSAGE TO **Table**

Special-Options: **Hide Sender's Name**

**Unknown:** It all o.k. Master o.k.

**Unknown:** Master send text 4 AZIMIO 2 read 4 u. GO C AZIMIO.

**Unknown:** Azimio, please tell my slave that its Master needs for it—

Kurt paused in his typing, frowning a little as he backed up, replacing the 'its' with 'hims'. Slaves were considered to have genders by their masters, but when it came to pronouns, slavemasters tended to refer to slaves as 'its.' The gender neutral pronoun had actually become popular as a matter of ease. Many of the elite owned dozens of slaves and tended to pay very little attention to who was serving them at any particular time. When gender pronouns were used, commands could become confused, such as when a master said they'd had a 'him' fulfill an order when they were being served by a 'her' or when they had seen a female slave then it was called away and a male took its place. Referring to them as 'its' simplified everything and so that was what made its way into the everyday vernacular. Common people, however, assumed that the 'it' was a way to objectify and humiliate a slave and, therefore, were uncomfortable with its use. The elite tended to find this amusing considering that a slave *was*, in fact, an object and so were innately objectified, no humiliation necessary. This was true slavery, after all, not some BDSM fantasy club where people got off on being called dogs or whatever. But Kurt knew that it bothered the average joe—his own father *still* refused to call a slave an 'it'—and he tried to respect that, when he remembered to, anyway.

**Unknown:** Azimio, please tell my slave that his Master needs for him to come meet me after football practice is over. I will send an address in the next text for my slave to show the bus driver. He can take Bus 327. Please tell him to use the same style of bill he uses to buy lunch. If he is confused, please show him the 5 dollar bill and tell him not to worry too much over whether or not the driver gives him the correct change. It's no big deal. Thank you very much. I appreciate your help and my slave does as well. Have a good day. Maybe find some girls with… no, yuck. I can't even type that. Bye.

Kurt chuckled quietly as he typed in Mr. Schue's address and hit the 'send' button. He wondered idly, not for the first time, if Azimio guessed who his friend's master was. The jock was an ass but he wasn't actually stupid. In fact, Kurt was pretty sure the boy knew a lot more about David than he let on. Kurt really hoped that revealing he was Dave's master didn't ruin their relationship. Kurt knew his table-backed bozo of a slave didn't consider itsself Azimio's friend, the idea of a freeman being friend to a slave totally alien to it, but he was pretty sure that Azimio would be there for it in a pinch.

Kurt felt that it was good for Dave to have someone to spend time with who was a little more like it in personality, and its enrollment in McKinley had been the perfect opportunity. Dave had always gotten along very well with Kurt's father, often helping him at the tire shop, and Kurt thought the slave enjoyed doing work with its hands. McKinley gave it a chance to do athletic endeavors that Kurt wasn't interested in—hockey had been perfect considering that Dave had always enjoyed the figure skating classes it had taken with Kurt when they were younger and hockey was just a more vicious version of that—and it pleased Kurt that his slave could interact so well with others. It showed he had trained him well.

Dave had even spent the night at Azimio's house once, though the outing had come to an uncomfortable end when Azimio had woken up to find that Dave had given into its slave instincts and cleaned the bathrooms, washed the windows, rearranged Azimio's closet, and made a fancy breakfast in a fit of gratitude for the boy having allowed it to play Guitar Hero the night before.

Kurt bit back a smile at the thought. The poor baby had been so confused when Azimio flipped out. He was lucky Dave had just called him instead of dropping down on its knees and begging Azimio's forgiveness or whatever. But, hey, it had been an interesting experience for the slave.

"Kurt, who are you texting?" Mercedes asked, raising up off of the couch to try and look. Kurt quickly shoved his phone away.

"Oh, just my dad," he lied, avoiding her eyes. He hated lying to her. Okay, well, that wasn't entirely true. He hated that she was going to *find out* he'd been lying to her. The actual act of lying was fine if it would keep Mercedes from looking at him like she'd looked at Rachel when the girl had worn a yellow paisley dress with pink and green striped tights. You know, like an absolute disaster.

There was a knock at the front door and all the fanciful gossip and crazy theories for what was going on fell to silence as everyone turned their attention to the entry way.

The time was here. Mr. Schue was going to come through that door with Sam in tow, they were going to bare all secrets, and everybody was going to know about Kurt.

"Come in, Mr. Schue!" Rachel called out brightly as Finn leaned over to Puck and muttered, "Why is he knocking on his own door?"

Kurt took a steadying breath. When Mr. Schue and Sam came in that door, it would be time. He licked his lips nervously as the door flung open…

…And Dave Karofsky stumbled through, sweat pouring down it, staining the pits of its muscle tee.

Mercedes let out a loud yelp, leaping to her feet. "What the hell?"

Kurt made a choked sound as the boy's eyes found his. He's sent the text less than ten minutes ago! How the *hell* had it gotten there so fast? Had it fucking Apparated? And if so then why the hell couldn't it have splinched the sweat away?

Dave, though it had come in with the fierceness of a bull, took several steps back when both Puck and Finn leapt to their feet and Artie wheeled himself dangerously in its direction.

"What do you think you're doing here?" Finn shouted, looking flatteringly upset as he moved between Kurt and Dave. "This is a private Glee Club practice! Losers not invited!"

"Yeah!" Puck added intelligently, flexing one of his arms. Kurt winced a little at that. The boy did have fantastic biceps but his slave could crush him between its hands if he wanted. A slave could be held responsible if its master was attacked and it failed to protect him—held responsible all the way to the lynch mob—so they tended to be well versed in defense. And offense. "Me and my guns think you better get lost!"

"Why is he even here?" Mike asked, voice mildly confused.

"Maybe he wants to sing," Brittany said, petting Santana's hair. "If he joins Glee Club can I dance on his chest?"

Dave looked back over to Kurt, eyes a little desperate, and Kurt took pity on it, sighing deeply. "It's okay, everyone. I invited it. Him. I invited him."

Rachel's mouth dropped open, an infuriated look coming over her. "You committed Glee Club treason?"

Kurt's eyes practically rolled themselves, the motion having become stock every time Rachel Berry spoke. How the hell did he even begin to explain this? Kurt had been counting on the shock of Sam's news to have readied the waters for his own secret a little. Where *was* Mr. Schue anyway?"

Screw it. He'd just deal with the problem at hand and let the confusion hang. "Dammit, David, how did you get here so fast?"

Dave jerked, then looked over at Kurt, opening its mouth and shutting it again, cheeks turning a little pink. What *was* going on here?

"I was, uh, already kind of on my way when you texted me, Mas—, I mean, Kurt. Coach said that Glee was having an emergency meeting at Schuester's place and I, um, just figured it must have been really important for Coach to have let Puckerman and Hudson and Abrams… and Evans… all skip practice. And then you didn't respond to my texts…" It trailed off, obviously at a loss for what to say. The others probably mistook the look on its face for another patented Dumb Jock Stare but Kurt saw it for the deep shame that it really was, eyes already silently begging for punishment. Sticking your nose in your master's business was one of the biggest 'no nos' there were. If a master wanted his slave around, he'd let it know. Being able to be around to silently watch and analyze its master's needs but not bring any attention to itself was one of the essentials of serving. For a slave to actively instigate contact with its master was *not* allowed. But Kurt couldn't bring himself to be *too* upset. There had been one too many 'Masstir u r OK rite?'s in those text messages to be overly annoyed by its sass.

"I had no plans to actually come inside the apartment," it added lamely, quickly adding "no excuse intended or wanted. But then the cabbie read me your text…" It shifted, glancing around nervously at the members of New Directions, obviously uncomfortable having to have such a personal conversation with Kurt while still maintaining some elements of the persona they had crafted, standing tall and loose like a jock instead of on its knees asking its master for punishment.

The whole bully facade had been Kurt's idea. He had wanted to get his slave out of the house more and his dad had offered to pay to send Dave to McKinley with him—probably his heavy handed way of trying to make them less master and slave and more like common people. Kurt had known, however, that Dave had the needs of a slave and that it would be cruel to put it in school and not allow it what a slave most needed: contact with its master. Kurt, however, knew very well what the middle class students at McKinley would think of a teenaged slavemaster in their midst.

As if it wasn't bad enough that he was a high-pitched diva. He didn't need something *else* to set him apart. So he had sat down with Dave and outlined what he called their 'school skit,' where Dave would be a dumb jock who liked to shove Kurt around for being girly and Kurt would be the disdainful victim. That way Dave could take comfort in being able to touch its master occasionally and have an excuse for staring at him for no particular reason, without Kurt's friends wondering why a big, dumb slave supposedly put into school to play ice hockey and football would pay attention to a slender fashionista like Kurt. Kind of a round about way of the kid pulling on its crush's pigtails, if you would.

Dave rubbed at its head with a big palm, looking unsure what do to. It was probably trying to decide if it should start teasing Kurt about his clothes or crawl over to him and rub its face against his leg. The poor oaf.

Thankfully Mr. Schue chose that moment to arrive, the front door opening and the man shuffling through, followed closely by Sam. He turned to smile at the Glee Clubbers then froze, grin turning to a frown of confusion as he saw Dave standing in the center of the room, looking out of place and smelling nasty.

"Well, hello, everyone," he said slowly as he walked into the living room. Kurt frowned at Sam as the boy trailed in behind him. He looked even more exhausted than he had earlier, his eyes bloodshot and the hem of his t-shirt wrinkled and wet, probably from all the snot and tears he'd been shedding.

"Um, hello, David," Mr. Schue said, raising an eyebrow. "I didn't expect to see *you* here."

"I invited him," Kurt said shortly, glaring over at Mercedes when she began to protest. "We're going to need his help."

Now Dave looked even more confused.

"I'll explain in a few minutes." Kurt looked meaningfully at Mr. Schue and the man continued to frown for a moment, then his eyes cleared and he looked from Kurt to Dave then back to Kurt, sending the boy a questioning look.

Kurt gave a short nod of affirmation, almost amused by the shocked look on his teacher's face. "Who had he thought Kurt's slave was? Becky Johnson? Ah, hell, he doubted the man had actually had time to think about it yet—and likely David Karofsky wouldn't have been the first guess to come to mind, either.

Sam's brow furrowed. "Wait, is he…? I mean, I know he's a slave, but…"

Kurt shot him a look, trying to get the words 'shut the hell up' across with his eyes. "Yes," he said shortly. "But we'll discuss *that* later." He pointed a finger at Dave, who was still standing dumbly in the center of the room. "You. Sit." He paused then added, "but make it far from me, Sasquatch," just to be clear that they were still in character, for a few more minutes at least. He wanted to milk all the sympathy he could from Mercedes before he gave in and ordered Dave to lick his pumps or something.

The slave fell right back into character—Kurt was a very good director, after all. Well, and blending in at a master's will was a major part of slave training. Didn't want to disturb the common folk and all that jazz.

"Yeah, okay, whatever you say, Mr. Fancy Prancy Pretty Boy," Dave shot back, its subtle way of being respectful and still staying in its role. It came off sounding rude and obnoxious but it knew very well that Kurt was nothing but proud of being fancy, prancy, and pretty.

"Oh shut up dumbass," Mercedes said, and Kurt felt a twinge of sadness, wondering if this would be the last time she would ever come to his defense. "Talk about lame lines. It's called a thesaurus. Invest in one. Your punches to the gut come off more like pats to the butt." She then pointedly turned her attention to Sam, her entire demeanor silently dismissing Dave. If she weren't such a hardcore liberationist, she'd actually fit in well with the elites. "So are you gonna clue us in on what's going on here, Mr. Schue?"

"Yeah," Puck said, suddenly looking uncomfortable. "Last time I got invited to a teacher's digs, Mr. Ryerson tried to feel me up. I mean, I got some weed out of it, so it's cool, but it's still kind of freaky."

Mr. Schue let out a tired sigh, silently directing Sam to sit down in one of the empty kitchen chairs. "We have some really serious stuff to discuss, guys, and let's just say that I don't trust any of the rooms at McKinley—not after I found a camera in my Spanish alphabet chart last week. And Brad thinks that one of the piano's keys has been replaced with a satellite receptor. Sue is on a real I Spy craze."

"So *that's* why she bought an Aston Martin," Santana murmured.

"Oh my God, is she trying to ruin our chances at Regionals again?" Rachel cried out, looking horrified as she pressed a hand over her mouth and made a terrifying squealing sound. "Oh, Mr. Schue, I am so glad that you are finally taking her threats seriously! If our set list gets leaked again, I can't *imagine* what will happen!"

"What is she talking about?" Dave questioned, a weird look on its face. "And how do you put a satellite receptor in a piano key?"

Mr. Schue ignored him, shaking his head. "No, Rachel. This has nothing to do with winning regionals, okay? Well, actually it does, but only coincidentally. That is NOT what's important right now."

Rachel made an annoyed sound. "Kurt, tell him that's what's important right now!"

"Rachel, shut up."

Mr. Schue took a deep breath, glancing over at Sam's slumped form. The boy's arms were wrapped around himself like he was cold and he looked limp and afraid. Kurt put a hand over his heart. The poor boy.

"What the fuck is wrong with him?" Kurt looked up, surprised at the harshness in Dave's tone. It was about to step out of line if it didn't watch itself, jock persona or no jock persona.

Mercedes beat him to the punch, however, reaching out and grabbing the back of Dave's slave collar, yanking it hard enough to make the boy choke. "Shut up, oaf-man."

"Sam has something to tell you all," Mr. Schue said seriously, "and he really needs your support." He reached over, squeezing the boy's shoulder comfortingly. "You want to tell them, Sam?"

Sam looked up, swallowing hard, then spoke, his voice wobbling a little. "Thanks Mr. Schue." He turned toward the group. "Something really bad happened. You know we moved here 'cause my dad got a job. But with the bad economy, he lost it really fast. We spent everything we had on the move down here and… well… there were a whole bunch of factors that went into what happened. But, basically, my parents made a huge mistake." He voice sped up. "It really wasn't their fault. The bank totally lied to them and covered things up and a whole bunch of stuff. But we'd lost our house and our car and we were about to be on the streets, so my parents took out a loan. And the collateral… well, the collateral was me."

The room was silent. The air conditioner clicking on sounded deafening. Kurt shifted nervously as he looked around the room, taking in everyone's faces. Quinn and Mercedes looked horrified. Brittany just looked confused and Santana didn't seem to give a damn, their usuals. Puck and Finn's hands were still locked in a thumb war, though they'd paused all movement, eyes locked on Sam. Lauren's face looked rounded than usual, her mouth in a big 'o'. Kurt thought that Mike very well might be about to cry. But it was Dave's face that really surprised him. There was terror on its face, but it wasn't looking in Sam's direction. It was staring right at Kurt, looking like it had just had a fist shoved up its butt or something. What was going on with it today?

"Wait…" Artie said slowly, the word coming off like it was in slow-mo. "They took a loan out on *you*? You mean like…"

"Human collateral," Dave said suddenly, voice low and hoarse. "They took out human collateral. If they don't pay their debt… he'll be put into slave training." Its eyes flickered to Sam then back to Kurt again, the look in them making Kurt wonder what it was so afraid of. It barely knew Sam, after all, other than from their interaction on the football team. And, well, from the two weeks Kurt had spent badly crushing on the blonde boy, talking about him incessantly until he'd finally come to admit that Sam was not, in fact, into boys. Kurt was never that lucky. And then Dave had been forced to listen to Kurt bitch about how the good ones were never gay for *another* two weeks. But the look on its face went well beyond just worry for Sam. You would have thought someone had just told Dave *it* would be going through slave training. Well, if it wasn't already a slave, anyway.

Dave's jaw locked and its eyes narrowed. "No! This can't happen. A freeman can't become a slave! We're born this way."

Mercedes stiffened at that, little dimples appearing next to her mouth as she frowned. "Ha! Those are some big words coming from someone who spends 24/7 being an ass to everyone! Some slave you are, Mr. Born That Way. Hell, if you didn't wear a big, fat metal collar around your big, fat neck, I'd have never guessed in a thousand years that you were a slave! Nobody is born a slave, Karofsky, so quit using that as an excuse to be a cowardly little follower instead of standing up for the rights of human beings! That's what a real man would do! Spend less time stroking his balls and more time using them!"

Dave rocked back like it had been hit and Kurt winced a little. His slave had felt that one, alright. There was pretty much nothing worse you could say to a Born-slave than it didn't act like a slave. Being a slave was their entire reason for living. He'd have to pat its head and call it a good boy or he'd spend the next week with the giant lug trying to carry him everywhere and wipe his butt for him. David tended to overcompensate when it felt that its place as Kurt's prized slave was threatened, even if it was only philosophically.

"I don't stroke my balls-*ever,*" Dave snapped back and Kurt winced. *Not* the place he wanted it to go. Please let this conversation redirect. "And I am proud to belong to my master."

"Hold on, they're gonna, like, take you away, Sam?" Finn spoke up, obviously a little behind in the conversation. "And make you a slave?"

Sam nodded miserably. "They gave us our final notice. They're going to foreclose on me in three days."

"They can't do that!" Mercedes protested as she pushed herself off the couch, moving to wrap her arms protectively around Sam. "We will not let them take you!"

"Thanks Mercedes," he said quietly, his voice defeated. "But I don't think you can stop them. I mean, I'm no expert on slaves, or anything, so I dunno for sure, but…"

"Is that why *he's* here?" Rachel asked, looking over at Dave. "Because he's a slave? So he knows this stuff? Karofsky, what will they do if we tell them they can't take Sam?"

Dave opened its mouth then shut it again, eyes flickering over at Kurt, obviously not sure if it should answer. "Um, they'll arrest you and maybe take Sam anyway?"

"Maybe? So they might *not* take him?" Rachel pressed. "We might be better off in juvenile hall than Sam would be in slavery!"

Dave's tongue flicked out, a nervous gesture it had. "Well, they *might* take him. But probably they'd just kill him. For trying to resist, you know? It sets a bad example. But that would be if he's lucky. They might use him as an example to keep other slaves from rebelling. Mutilate him." Its mouth twisted in disgust. "But a rebel deserves nothing less."

"You think Sam deserves to be killed or mutilated?" Mercedes asked in disbelief, a hand on her hip as she towered over Dave's sitting form.

The slave flinched at the vehemence in her voice. Mercedes was nothing if not fierce. "What? That's not what I said. *Sam* is not a slave. Sam is a freeman. It isn't fair to trap a freeman in slavery and then punish him for rebelling. A freeman has a right to rebel—he's free! A slave doesn't."

Mercedes just looked more disgusted. "So you think the millions of people trapped in slavery around the world have no right to stand up for their human rights?"

Dave's brow furrowed, obviously confused by Mercedes' logic. "I wasn't talking about *people*, I was talking about *slaves*!"

Kurt held up a hand. "Mercedes, you're never going to make it, erm, *him* understand. That's why we *need* him—because slaves don't think like freemen and slave training is constructed for people with a slave's mindset. Let's save the politics of it for Debate Club-you know, later when we're not having a *major crisis*! This is a slave, that's a slave… it doesn't matter what makes a slave right now! What matters is that the bank is coming for Sam in three days and there is *no* way that we can let him lose his freedom!"

"May I please ask if—" Dave cut off at the look Kurt shot it, taking a deep breath as it made an obvious effort to shift its quickly degrading mindset back to that of McKinley High jock. "I mean, if there any way it can be stopped? I totally, a thousand percent agree that Sam should *not* be enslaved." Its voice was surprisingly adamant, eyes flickering nervously between Kurt and Sam. "But aren't these contracts pretty solid? I've heard new money elite explaining it to traditional slavemasters before. The law is on their side." It glanced over at Mercedes. "Not that it makes it right, okay, Lady Obama? Freeman *means* a man that is free, after all. No honorable slave trainer would take a First-gen slave under its keep. But ever since the business tycoons have started inching in on the elite's society, more and more freemen are being trapped by their schemes. And no one is stopping it."

"You're right," Kurt said, his voice tight. "The only way to stop the enslavement process is to pay back the debt."

"Well, then that's what we'll do!" Finn exclaimed, sitting up eagerly. "If we all pool our allowances, do some car washes, that stuff… How much, exactly, do you need, Sam?"

Kurt wasn't sure if Finn's naivete was cute or just pitiful.

The blonde boy looked down. "Well, it started out as just $10,000. But there was interest and late fees and a bunch of hidden fees we didn't know about. Eventually it started doubling every month. Now… almost $300,000. But they'll accept a minimum payment of $50,000." He choked up. "All my family has is a Welch's jar half full of loose change we've found on the sidewalk."

A heavy silence pressed down on them as everyone just kind of stared at Sam, shocked.

Kurt caught Dave's eye. His slave was the only one who didn't look surprised. They both knew that a strong, intelligent, attractive young man like Sam could sell for *over* $50,000 if his training went well, even if he was a First-gen. And even if it went bad and he had no mind left, they could still get the 10k the loan had cost them out of him. After all, he would still be young, strong, and attractive. It wasn't like you just got the slave for a night. It would have to work for you for the rest of its life and then you could breed it and its children would be yours. And *they* would be Born-slaves.

Finally Rachel broke the silence, her voice shaky. "Fifty *thousand* dollars? That… that's a lot more than my allowance."

God, poor Sam looked terrified. Kurt took a deep breath and stood, moving over to pat Sam's shoulder comfortingly. "And that is why we're going to have to work our butts off to get it," Kurt said firmly.

Puck let out a laugh. "Okay, I'm no mathemagician, but somehow I don't think we're gonna be able to scrape up fifty thousand bucks in three days!"

"No, that would be impossible," Mr. Schue said. "But we have a plan." He paused, glancing over at Kurt, suddenly looking uncertain. "Kurt, maybe you should explain."

Mercedes frowned, looking a little lost. "Maybe Kurt should explain what? What's going on?" Her eyes locked with his, obviously worried, and Kurt looked away, unable to bear the thought that in just a few minutes those precious eyes might be staring at him with hatred. He took a deep breath, glancing over at Dave, taking solace in the similarity between their chocolate gazes. At least he would still have his slave. He would never be truly alone.

"I honestly don't know how to tell you guys this, so I'm just going to say it," Kurt began. He might as well be blunt. He really didn't know any good way to say it, after all. "There are some things that you don't know about me. Things that you might not like, that I've been keeping secret from you."

Dave's eyes were wide, obviously shocked by what its master was doing. Finn broke into a big smile, however, leaning forward and looking at Kurt warmly. "Don't worry, man, we still love you even though you like boys."

Kurt stared at Finn in disbelief as Dave let out a choked laugh. Was he serious? Good God, that boy made Ozzie Osbourne look like a regular genius sometimes.

"I never said I was gay, Finn," he said, then waved the words away. "But I think it's obvious to everyone that I am and I sort of figured you knew that since I had a crush on you for years. So go tell it on the mountain. That is *not* what I am talking about right now." He took a deep breath. "Look, it's not going to be easy to get Sam out of this mess, but we can't let his freedom be taken away. We just can't. Puck was right—wow, saying that sounds strange. We can't make fifty thousand dollars magically appear in just three days. Luckily, we actually have a little more time than that."

Rachel frowned. "But Sam said—"

"Look," Kurt interrupted. "I know about the slave trade. I know way more about it than any of you, okay?"

Mercedes sucked in a sharp breath. "Oh my God, you're a freedom fighter aren't you? A member of the Emancipation League." Her eyes got bright with tears. "Oh, Kurt, you are so brave."

"What's *wrong* with you, Aretha?" Dave snapped at her, then ducked its head in submission when Kurt glared at it.

Kurt took a deep breath. "No, Mercedes," he said quietly. "No, I am not a freedom fighter. And I am not anyone that someone like you would consider brave. I know the slave trade… because I am a slavemaster."

Finn began to laugh. "Haha, very funny, Kurt. But let's skip the jokes and get to the part about helping Sam, okay?"

Kurt gritted his teeth. "It's not a joke, Finn. I am a registered slave owner."

"That… that's not possible," Mercedes said slowly, staring at him with utter disbelief. "You can't be… not you, Kurt. You would never do that to someone. You're a member of SAS! You… you're not that kind of person."

The surety in her voice made Kurt's heart ache and for a moment, and despite the fact that he would never give up his slave for the world, it kind of made him wish she was right.

"Look, I honestly never wanted to have to tell you." His voice caught a little. "I never wanted to be part of the elite. I didn't ask for it or go looking for it. I just wanted to be a normal, middle class kid like all of you. Only more fashionable. That's *still* what I want. But the fact is, my mother was one of the elite. She married a working lass man and, if it was good enough for her, it's damn well good enough for me. The working class is honest and good hearted and hard working. But it's also incredibly fucking naive." God, his words were tumbling out so fast it kind of felt like he was vomiting them. He locked his eyes on the carpet, not daring to look up lest he see something he *really* didn't want to see in his friends' eyes. It felt kind of awkward, talking with his eyes on the ground. Was this how slaves felt, keeping their eyes down all the time? "Anyway, my point is, I've come up with a way that we can buy some time."

Kurt paused, terrified by the silence. He wanted to look up so, so bad and see their faces, but he didn't dare. Seriously, if this is what slaves dealt with all the time, no wonder slave training drove freemen insane!

"You're… you're a slavemaster." Mercedes' voice sounded shaky. He wondered if looking her in the eyes right then would make him want to cry.

"Yes," he said flatly. "I am. My grandparents gave me a slave about six years ago, not long after my mom died." His voice came out sounding choked and he had to hold back tears. This wasn't as bad as when he'd found out his mom was dying, but it was a damn close second. Losing his best friend. Again. "My mother was my best friend. When she died… it was really, really hard. My grandparents… they didn't want me to have to be alone. So they gave me a little boyslave who served at their estate."

A very simplified version of how he'd come to possess Dave, but accurate enough.

"And how does you being a slavemaster do shit to buy us time for Trouty Mouth over there?" Santana asked, not really sounding like she gave much of a damn. He looked up and she smirked at him, rolling a black curl around her finger. "You gonna buy him up and pretend he's your boyfriend?"

Dave grunted loudly at that and Kurt looked over at it, surprised at the rage with which it was staring at Santana. "How does you being such a bitch to Kurt do shit to keep me from smacking your pretty face?" the slave shot back at her, suddenly even mouthier than it usually was when in jock mode. What was *with* it today?

"It's like this, Santana," Kurt said sharply, shooting a warning glance at Dave. "See, the bank wants Sam to think he only has three days so he'll just accept it like a good boy and his family will stop trying to save money to pay their debt. *But*, because slave training is so brutal to freemen's minds, he actually has more time than that. See, the bank doesn't want to risk taking a loss if the person they've foreclosed upon can't take the pressure and kills themselves. So when they foreclose on the person they place them in slave training—but they *don't* register them with the Slave Legislation And Processing board. And unless you're in the SLAP International Slave Registrar, you are a freeman. They wait until the training is *finished* before registering them. That way if the person, like, slits their wrists or something, the bank has every right to go back to their family members and demand another person as payment for the debt since the person they took killed themselves before they were made officially theirs—a way of 'avoiding payment'. They count on the fact that the common people they are putting into slavery don't know that any being whose DNA tests as _homo sapien_ has the rights of a freemen until they are *registered* as slaves. Born-slaves are automatically listed at birth. But First-gens are listed after training. So, technically, for the time that it takes to put a person through slave training, they have the right to pay off their debts and be set free. My grandmother calls it the Greco-Roman Ponzi Scheme."

"So, basically," Artie said, his mind obviously racing, "Sam really has more than just three days to pay off the debt. He has until the end of his slave training."

Kurt nodded. "That's right. And the training programs for freemen last six months."

Dave snorted. "As if you can train a slave in six months."

"How long were you trained?" Quinn asked, looking interested.

"Nine years. Not that training is ever really finished. But that's how long I trained with Master Slave Trainer Karofsky." Dave sat up proudly, which looked a little strange considering that it dropped its eyes submissively while doing so. "Master Karofsky is an international champion in slave training and handling. His slaves have won numerous awards."

"Oh," Quinn said, looking like she didn't quite know what to say to that. "That's… nice."

"Do you really think we can get that much money in just six months?" Tina questioned, going back to the problem at hand. "I mean, fifty thousand dollars is a lot of money!"

"Maybe we can use Monopoly money?" Brittany suggested helpfully, causing Santana to roll her eyes.

"Well," Artie said, "there are approximately 180 days in six months. So that's just over… $275 a day. There are 13 of us in New Directions, plus Mr. Schue. So that's just under twenty dollars per person per day. And that's not including other people we might be able to get to help." He broke into a smile. "It won't be easy, but I think it's doable if we really work for it. And it's definitely worth it if we can save Sam!"

"I still don't like that we're just accepting that they can make Sam a slave!" Mercedes put in, obviously troubled. Rachel reached out, touching her hand lightly.

"I agree, Mercedes, but Kurt's right about one thing—now is not the time to make a political statement. Now is the time to save Sam."

"If I may please ask—I mean... yo, I got a question." Dave's voice was very thick. "As interesting of an idea as this is… Kurt… do you really think Sam is going to make it through slave training? I mean… I… I know you… *really* like him. But slave training is… difficult. Even for Born-slaves. I… I am not certain if a freeman like Sam will be able to make it in slave training. Now matter how much you may… *really* want him to."

"Well," Kurt said, "that is where you will come in, slave David."

The boy's face tightened, its fists balling reflexively. "M-me?"

"Him?" Mercedes said at the same time, a disbelieving look on her face.

"Dave is a Born-slave, Mercedes," Kurt said simply, trying to avoid the furious looks she was shooting him. "Slave training is a very complex process and it can be very, very damaging to freemen. Born-slaves think differently than freemen. The way they think is what allows them to have a happy existence serving their masters and what makes them good slaves. First-gens have to learn to think like Born-slaves if they want to survive. But it isn't easy for freemen to understand how a slave can be satisfied in situations you or I would consider intolerable. Banks just want to make money, however, so they train their First Generation slaves as fast as possible, sink or swim, just throwing them into the life and counting on the human mind to survive. Humans are good at that, after all. It's brutal, though, and many First-gens don't survive it with their minds intact or, at least, not so that they are recognizable as the people they once were. But it can be done. People can make it through intact. Like I said, the human mind wants to survive. With a Born-slave to mentor him, Sam will have someone to explain what is expected of him instead of having to figure it out on the fly as he is horribly punished for acting in ways he thinks are correct but are actually grave offenses for a slave." Kurt bit his lip. "I… I'm not going to say that Sam will come out of this totally unscarred. But, compared to the other option… It's sort of a better than nothing deal."

"Hold up," Mercedes said, raising a hand in the air. "This all sounds just a little bit too much like the girl in the miniskirt getting blamed for her rape to me. Someone has to stand up and say she won't ride at the back of the bus! We shouldn't be allowing them to take Sam at all!" She scowled. "Maybe you've managed to bullshit yourself into believing that this stuff is okay, Kurt, but I'm not good with it! It is wrong and I won't stand for it!" She looked over at Tina and Rachel. "Isn't that right, girls?"

The two girls just stared at her, looking unsure, and Mercedes' scowl deepened. "Is everyone here a complete coward? How selfsih can you be, Master Slavemaster Kurt Hummel, Sir?"

Sam made a whimpering sound and annoyance flared up in Kurt's chest. He was sick of this! Didn't she realize that 'taking a stand,' as good as it might sound, would do nothing to help Sam?

"You know what, Mercedes? If anyone is being selfish here, it's you! You want to use Sam for your little cause, never mind that he would probably be *killed* for your idiocy!:

Mercedes mouth dropped open. "I do not want to *use* Sam, Kurt! I want to save him! Something obviously you don't give a damn about, slavemaster! Where's your slave right now, huh? Off scrubbing your floors and organizing your socks? You don't want me to stand up against it because you don't want to lose your slave!"

"Dammit, Mercedes—"

"Okay, that is ENOUGH!" Mr. Schue shouted, glaring at the two of them. "You two need to put this aside right now! You can argue over the ethics of it later, okay? Right now we need to *help Sam*! We can worry about all the other slaves in the world tomorrow. Right now, we're focusing on Sam!"

"I still don't get how this is going to work, Dave spoke up, frowning. "First of all, I'm just a Born-slave. I have a simple mind. I don't know how much I'll be able to help a freeman." It paused, swallowing deeply, its voice suddenly dropping. "Though I will, of course, always do my best." It shook its head. "Second of all… I don't think it's likely that the bank will send Sam to slave training in Lima."

"We've thought of that," Kurt said shortly. "Mr. Schue talked Figgins into giving Sam one of the state slave scholarships, claiming we need him for Glee Club."

"Which is where Regionals comes in," Mr. Schue added. "Sue wasn't happy about having to give up one of her scholarships and we had to make a deal. Figgins will let us have the scholarship until Regionals. Then, if we win Regionals, we can keep it to Nationals. Otherwise, Sue gets her Cheerio slave back after Regionals and we'll just have to hope the bank doesn't move Sam then."

"Six months," Kurt added, just in case anybody didn't get this. "Which means the only way Sam will *really* be safe is if we win at Regionals."

"I still don't understand why we need Big Foot over there," Mercedes said icily, glaring at Dave. "We can be there for Sam, help him get through it. We don't need that bully."

"We do *not* want Sam to be tossed into training with no clue what to expect," Kurt said seriously. "I've seen First-gens in training and you usually can't tell what color their skin is under the bruising. Dave had first hand experience that even I couldn't tell you about. It... he... can teach him basic courtesy, explain the concept of slave disciple, all that stuff, before the bank even puts him in training."

"Kurt's right," Santana said. She raised an eyebrow when everyone looked at her strangely. "What? My dad's a doctor. A real doctor, not one of those tooth fairies or pussy practitioners. I don't know much about the elite and their precious little Born-slaves, but we know a lot of rich doctors and corporate losers who own First-gens. They tend to be a few crayons short of a box. Have a tendency to whine and whimper and stare at shit that isn't there. And Big Lips over there is just begging to be fucked up with that crazy ass mouth of his."

"Fine," Mercedes said tightly. "If we have to do this and *need* a slave, why don't you turn your lack of ethics into something useful, Kurt? If you're going to be a piece of moral crap, you might as well help Sam out. Get *your* slave to help him. That big bozo over there spends all day shoving people's heads into toilets and making poop jokes and *he's* supposed to teach Sam 'disciple' or whatever? Ha! What a laugh. Or are you afraid for us to see your poor little slave and know that you've been doing to him what these bastards are planning to do to Sam?"

Dave's face was an interesting shade of red and Kurt had a feeling it was calling Mercedes some very impolite words in its head for talking like that to Kurt. Slaves were nothing if not loyal to their masters. Dave had once "accidentally" dumped an entire punch bowl of cherry vodka over the head of a boy who'd called Kurt a pansy while they were at an elite party. His slave had received twenty lashes with a bullwhip from the partymaster for its "clumsiness," taking the punishment with a snarky smile.

Kurt took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. "A little quick to judge, Mercedes?" he said, voice snippy. "Do you really think I'd trust anyone less than my own slave to help Sam? There's a reason we're in Mr. Schue's apartment, hiding from Sue's spyware. If the bank thinks for an instant that we're trying to slip Sam out from under them, they'll ship him off. They could send him to Antarctica if they wanted! We'd never find him again!"

Rachel frowned. "Then why isn't your slave here?"

"Who said my slave isn't here?" Kurt shot back.

The room was silent for a moment then Finn spoke up, his voice disbelieving. "Wait… are you saying… Karofsky's your slave? But he's bullied you non-stop since you first came to McKinley!"

"All part of our plan to make sure no one found out about us," Kurt said simply, crooking a finger in Dave's direction. "Slave Dave, come."

The boy stood immediately, trading its threatening "jock posture" for proper slave form, standing up straight with its shoulders bowed slightly forward, hands held behind its back, head tipped forward with its eyes respectfully dropped. It moved across the room quickly, its steps looking unnaturally graceful on that big body. It came to a stop before Kurt and immediately dropped to its knees in one smooth motion, a lifetime of practice making the movement seem effortless, despite its large size. It then lowered its face until its chin was almost in its chest hair.

"You have got to be kidding me," Puck said in obvious disbelief. "Karofsky is Kurt's slave? Okay, what happened to the real world and when did we step into the Twilight Zone?"

Kurt reached out, absently tugging at his slave's dark curls, grimacing a little when sweat came off on his palm. Someone needed a bath.

"This is so not right," Mercedes muttered just under her breath, staring at them with open horror.

Kurt chose to ignore her, not wanting to think about the pain cutting through his chest, and turned his attention to Sam. "So here's how I think we should do this. Sam, you go home and explain everything to your family. Tomorrow, after school, you can come home with me. My slave will serve us and you can watch me to see how we interact. Maybe I'll call my grandma and get some passes so we can go over to the elite mall in Westerville. Then you can see how slaves *really* act, away from the middle class. It will help you understand why the elite consider them a separate species. It might help you be able to fake the behavior.

Sam nodded, looking a little overwhelmed. "Okay… I… I guess that will work."

"I want to go."

Kurt looked over sharply at Mercedes, his eyes widening. "Excuse me?"

"I said, I want to go. I want to see this 'elite' world. You slavers," she practically spat the word, "claim that slaves are so different. I think that's a bunch of bullshit. I think you're just a bunch of deluded supremacists. But if you're going to play the good guy, I think I deserve to see this stuff for myself."

Kurt opened his mouth to argue then shut it with a snap. Mercedes wanted to see for herself? That was fair enough. And maybe, if he was really lucky, he could at least begin to convince her that not *all* slavemasters were Satan himself. "Fine," he said shortly, patting Dave on the head when it shifted slightly, obviously uncomfortable with the idea. "You can come too."

"God, Kurt," Sam said hoarsely, rubbing at his his eyes. "I'm so scared."

Kurt gave him his best smile. "Don't worry, Sam. It's going to be all right."

God he really hoped that was true.


	4. Ch 4: The Noble Slave

****If you would like to read this on my livejournal instead of the evil ff net, you can find it at****

****pucktheperv [dot] livejournal [dot] com [slash] tag [slash] bornthisslave****

o o o****  
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****Warnings:****Slash, slave!fic, non-con, dub-con, h/c, kink, angst, fluffystuff, boysex,

****Pairings:****Kurtofsky (master!Kurt/slave!Dave), Sam/Dave, Sam/Kurt, Others/Dave, Klaine, Dave/Kurt, Other Minor Pairings

****Summary: ****Everything is going well for Glee Club until a drop in the economy leaves one of their own in a desperate situation. The bank is foreclosing on Sam and he is about to be sent into a world of legal slavery - a trade that is entirely foreign to everyone except the highest of society. The situation seems helpless until Kurt comes forward with a secret that may save Sam's life—but it may also lose Kurt his friends when they find out that one of their own is, in fact, a slavemaster.

****About the Story: ****This is an AU based off the Glee world. All the Glee kids are students at McKinley, yaddayaddayadda, just like on the show but they live in a world where there is a treacherous system that allows for legal human slavery. It is both a hot political issue and a tradition passed down for generations. It's all explained throughout the story. What can I say? I love world building. So much I already have another chapter almost ready to go. :)

**Notes:**I am pretty evil. Let's just say you may not looove where I ended this. But I've already started the next chapter (though I do have to do things like work during the week, unfortunately, LOL) and let's just say it begins with major SMUT!

**Random Note on Dave's IQ 'Cause People Seem Bothered That He's "Dumb":** Uneducated is not the same thing as dumb. Don't worry, Dave ain't dumb. Far from it. He's *uneducated*. You wouldn't know your alphabet or how to add money well either if you'd been born into Roman-esque slavery, LOL. Trust me, I majored in ancient history. Those poor slaves' lives totally suck, LOL. ;P

o o o

**Chapter 4: The Noble Slave**

The sun was just dropping behind the horizon by the time that they made it out of the apartment. The Glee Club had sat around for hours, comforting Sam, discussing ways that they could raise money, and tossing around set lists for Regionals. Well, except for Mercedes, who had stormed out in a fit of anger after a fruitless ten minutes of trying to convince Dave to join Students Against Slavery. It had actually been a rather amusing conversation, or would have been if Kurt was in a better mood.

"You should join Students Against Slavery, Karofsky. It would be good for you, I think. We're there to whip slavery!"

"No, thank you Miss Mercedes. I've been whipped enough. And my master doesn't like it when other people whip me."

"What? No, you big dummy! We're an anti-slavery group. We don't actually whip anyone! We whip *slavery*!"

"How do you whip slavery? It doesn't have a body."

"We're out there to end it!"

"But I don't want it ended, Miss Mercedes."

"That's just them brainwashing you. Don't you want to be free?"

"Not particularly."

"Everyone wants to be free."

"I don't. That would make me a gift and I don't wanna be given away. I love my master. Plus they say freemen value things less if they get it for free."

That had apparently been all Mercedes could take of Dave, because she'd stood up in a huff and marched straight to the door, muttering something about big dumb oafs. Dave had then made its way back over to Kurt, who'd just shaken his head, smirked, and said, "You so knew what she meant, David."

His slave had shrugged, an overly innocent look on its face. "I don't know what you mean, Master Kurt. I was trying to make it clear that your slave is not cheap."

Uh-huh.

Kurt took a deep breath as he buckled himself into the Navigator, glancing up at the rearview mirror to sneak a peek at Dave in the backseat. Its head was lowered respectfully but its shoulders were very tense. It knew that Kurt was *not* happy with it. It had acted with very poor taste, showing up at Mr. Schue's before it was invited. And all those texts! Slaves didn't instigate contact with their masters unless there was an emergency—and curiosity did not count as an emergency. Then the way it had gone way beyond its jock persona and snapped at Mercedes, then Santana…

It was all so unlike Dave. It kind of had Kurt worried. Dave was a very good slave, obedient and polite. It did have quite the track record for breaking the rules, but only because Kurt had a tendency to *order* it to do things that the elite would consider no-nos. And it was always glad to take its punishment for its mistakes.

Kurt's lips pressed together in a tight line. He'd have to punish it tonight, but by God he was tired. Mentally and emotionally drained. Why, why, why did it have to choose *today* to act up?

Kurt turned the Navigator's wheel suddenly, accidentally sending his slave tumbling over in the backseat, smacking against the door. Kurt winced a little and straightened the wheel as Dave pushed itself back upright.

"Master, may I ask your forgiveness?" Dave's voice was little, almost childlike. It looked ashamed. Kurt rolled his eyes. Why was it being such a baby tonight?

"Go ahead."

"Sir, this slave is very sorry, my Master, for showing up uninvited, for sticking its nose in Master's business, for risking revealing itself to Master's friends, for contacting Master without permission, and for anything else it may have done to offend Master with its simple mind. It would be my pleasure to go hungry and thirsty as a reminder that my actions have ray… per… repair… concussions… cautions…"

"Repercussions," Kurt said flatly, reaching over to fiddle with the AC as they came to a stop light. Apparently reading it the Word A Day calendar was paying off.

"That my actions have repercussions and that the things that cause my master discomfort cause me discomfort, too."

"Good job using your vocabulary words, pet. But you're not going thirsty! You are *covered* in sweat. Obviously you were running in practice. You could pass out!"

"I drank some Gatorade to replace the water I sweated before I left McKinley, Master."

"I don't care. You're not going hungry, either, because your stomach will growl and wake me up." And because Kurt felt that starvation was one of the worst punishments you could give a slave and having written some text messages really wasn't something that deserved that. Dave knew that. Once again Kurt wondered what was going on. "You can have rations tonight instead of dinner, okay? That's Master's pleasure," Kurt added quickly at the end, hoping to cut off any arguments for greater punishment. Hell, he thought eating rice and Spam was damn well punishment enough. Besides, he was too tired to go back and forth with Dave on punishments. He just kind of wanted to forget about the whole evening and crawl into bed. But if he didn't do anything, Dave would find a way to punish itself. Maybe, like, refuse to pee for a day or something crazy like that. That was a part of slave training, actually, so that if a master didn't feel like making the effort to punish the slave, they could just send them off to punish themselves.

Dave nodded slowly, not looking very happy with the compromise. Kurt would have to watch it closely to make sure it didn't "accidentally drop" half of its rations. David really was such a good slave. "Sir, yes my Master, Sir."

Sir, yes my Master, sir. Dave was usually much more familiar with Kurt, calling him 'Master Kurt' or just 'Master' as if it was a name rather than a title. Something was very off and Kurt was starting to get a serious headache trying to figure out what. Dave was a bundle of nerves, sitting rim rod straight in the backseat looking like it might break in half if it breathed wrong. Of course, it wasn't exactly used to getting in trouble-well, not with Kurt-so maybe it was just worried. Dave was pretty damn obedient. Kurt had once told it 'not to move' while he ran to the store to get more biscuits and, when he'd returned, he found it in exactly the same position that it had been in when he'd left, a teacup halfway to its lips and the sugar tongs still in hand. Talk about taking Master's orders at face value.

They drove in silence for another few minutes, Kurt not really feeling like chatting and Dave apparently having remembered its manners, not speaking since it wasn't spoken to. Finally they pulled into the driveway and Dave flung the door open before the car was even turned off, jumping out and running to open the door for Kurt before Kurt had finished pulling the keys from the ignition.

Dave stood beside the car, Kurt's bag over one arm, offering the smaller boy his hand.

"You look tired, Master Kurt," it said, its voice eager. "Would you like me to carry you inside?"

Kurt laughed. "I think I can manage twenty feet, David. Not to mention that you stink like a tsunami of man stench."

Dave dropped its eyes, looking chastised. "I'm sorry, Master, to have presented myself to you like this. I knew better than to come to you without showering, Sir. I knew better than to come to you at all without permission, Sir."

"Why in the world *did* you take off from school like that, slave?" Kurt questioned, finally giving into his curiosity as they made their way toward the house. "I know it was weird for us to have a meeting at Mr. Schue's, but that isn't the weirdest thing New Directions has ever done." He unlocked the door and pushed it open, Dave following him into the living room.

Dave took a deep breath as it set Kurt's bag next to the door, looking nervous. "Master… I wasn't completely honest with you earlier. In fact, I sort of lied."

Wait... What?

o o o

"Master… I wasn't completely honest with You earlier. In fact… I sort of lied." The words were more painful than any whip that had ever touched his back. Hell, Dave could hardly hear himself speaking over the pounding of his heart. His head felt light and he prayed that he didn't pass out right in the midst of coming clean to Master Kurt.

This entire day had been a mess of insanity. It had been crazier than the time Master Kurt's grandmother had decided to use the slaves to get her hated daughter in law out of the house, and they'd all had to walk around in skimpy bunny outfits. From what Dave had understood it had been some kind of barb, though all Mistress had said to the lady was 'I just wanted you to feel at home dear… like the type of mansion I'm sure you're *used* to living in.' This had caused a smattering of laughter amongst the freemen at the party, though Dave was still confused over the joke. But he was a slave and it really wasn't any of his business to ask. Kind of like what Master Kurt did on His off periods weren't any of Dave's business.

Seriously, had he lost his *mind*? Why, why, *why* had he followed Master from school? Had he really thought *that* would make the already terrible situation even a smidge better? Hell, if anything it had made it *worse*. And if he had stopped to think like a good slave then none of this would have happened, Master wouldn't be angry with him, he wouldn't be standing here admitting to a lie, and he'd be a thousand times more likely to somehow be able to salvage his position at his Master's feet than he was now!

Dave swallowed hard, his throat feeling sticky and dry. He really wished he could take it all back. He'd acted like a fool. But he'd just been so damn scared! Scared of what was happening, scared that he would lose everything he loved because some perfect blonde prince had taken a fall. Because let's face it—compared to Sam Evans, Dave might as well be the werewolf looking dude in that movie Master liked to watch over and over with the singing teapots and magic roses and stuff. Only Dave wasn't going to magically transform into a handsome prince. Hell, he wasn't going to transform into a handsome *slave*. It seemed like he just got bigger and sweatier and hairier with every passing year while Master Kurt somehow managed to just get more and more beautiful. How long would a beautiful Master want to keep around a doggish oaf?

Sam Evans, on the other hand, was like a fucking Greek God, all his strange beauty issues aside. Cut abs, not an inch of chub, soft blonde hair, dark eyes, and those goddamn *lips*! They had been the butt of more than a few of Dave and Azimio's jokes, but it was the truth—they *were* made to be wrapped around a cock! What Master wouldn't want to stuff His balls into that mouth?

Not to mention that his Master had been totally enamored with him. It had been all He'd talked about for weeks. "Oh, Dave, have you *seen* Sam Evans?" "Oh slave Dave, have you *heard* Sam Evans sing?" "Oh pet, isn't Sam Evans *wonderful*?" Which was totally fine. Dave wanted Master Kurt to be happy. He'd actually been sad for Master when He'd found out that, bleached hair be damned, Mr. Sam was as straight as uncooked spaghetti.

Dave knew that being the flamboyant, obviously gay boy in a common, middle class society wasn't easy. It was sort of amusing how, despite being so against slavery, many of the common people despised homosexuals. He supposed people would always pick and choose things—even their injustices.

Master was strong and proud, but He had spent more than a few evenings crying Himself to sleep against Dave's chest. Dave was glad his Master could take solace in his arms, but he wished he could do more with them than just comfort Master Kurt—like, say, punch some of the assholes in the face.

When Puckerman and Hudson had thrown pee balloons at Master, Dave had wanted to kill them or, better yet, take a bullwhip to their testicles. He'd had to settle for "forgetting" to block for Hudson in the next football game, resulting in the lanky boy being tackled by oversized boys about fifty times in one night. And Puckerman… what a bastard. Dave's Master was truly gracious to forgive that prick so easily just because he had joined their little sing along group. In Dave's opinion, it did *not* make up for having nailed all of Master Burt's lawn furniture to their roof. But he was only a slave, his opinion didn't matter, and Master had chosen to be the better person. His Master always chose to be the better person. And He deserved someone like Him to love. Mr. Sam was friendly and had been supportive of Master Kurt when none of the other Glee boys were. Mr. Sam would have made a good boyfriend. But as a slave? *That* was a whole different story.

Mr. Artie and Puckerman taking off before school ended had really piqued Dave's curiosity. NO ONE missed last period football practice with Coach if they liked having their nuts attached to their bodies. So he'd decided to swing by her office and see if he could catch her alone, maybe find out what was up with the Glee Club that was big enough for Mr. Schue to take them out of class and risk the Panther's wrath.

Dave was way too curious for a slave sometimes. It had been his biggest fault in training. He had a hard time just accepting that he wasn't going to know. It tended to nag at him. But his Master had always been encouraging of his interested nature, letting him try all sorts of things and telling him about the world. A few months ago his Master had even begun to teach him his letters along with some neat new words that made him sound pretty smart when he said them. Letters were kinda tough—it was hard to remember which one made what sound and things like when an 'L' had two sticks on it and when it was just one stick. It was fun, though it took awhile, considering that looking at a bunch of sticks and seeing sounds was just totally foreign to Dave's mind.

Dave attended mostly the regular classes at McKinley, along with a couple of the slave classes, and, though he found the things teachers talked about really cool most of the time, he wasn't really expected to do any of the work. Like most slaves, he couldn't read. Masters had better things to teach their slaves than how to read. Anything they needed to know that a freeman might write down, like recipes or instructions or whatever, they were expected to memorize. So why waste all that time teaching reading when you could be teaching how to actually do stuff? But Master Kurt, for some reason, had decided that it might be useful someday for Dave to know how to read and write, so now, though he could still just barely read, he knew the alphabet song and could write out lots of words like they sounded.

He knew he fucked them up pretty good sometimes because every once and awhile Master Kurt would erupt in laughter at what he had written, but he really didn't care. He could do something that almost none of his fellow slaves could do—and none of his childhood training had been wasted teaching him how to do it, so he could still do anything *they* could do. Talk about a reason to be a prized slave. Plus it made him proud that his Master trusted him enough to let him know things like how much money was worth and that Master Kurt was interested enough in him to teach him his letters.

...And getting to see his Master dressed in a pencil skirt and a poofy blouse with wire-rimmed glasses perched on His nose as he walked back and forth in front of the letter chart, a ruler in hand ready to rap Dave on the knuckles when he mixed up the 'E' with the 'B' was just a bonus. A very funny, enjoyable bonus.

Today, though, that curious nature had been his downfall.

Dave had been standing outside Coach's office, debating if he really wanted to risk her shoving her finger up his nostril when he asked her what was going on when he'd heard their voices. He'd recognized Mr. Schue immediately from all the times he'd skipped study period to stand outside the choir room and just listen to the Glee Club sing. Mr. Schue talked just like he wrapped, minus the school-inappropriate vocabulary.

"They're foreclosing on him, Shannon. His parents took a loan against him and couldn't pay it back. They're coming for him in three days."

Coming for him? Coming for who?

"What? That's crazy, Will! We can't let them take Sam!"

Sam? Sam Evans?

"There's no way to legally stop it, Shannon. But we do have a plan. Kurt came up with it, actually."

Kurt? Master Kurt? Dave rocked back, stumbling back a few steps to keep from falling into the lockers. He needed to get ahold of himself. If Coach heard him out here he might never find out what was going on. And she might remove his penis, which would probably displease Master Kurt.

"We're going to help him through his slave training and raise the money for him before he's registered so that he won't get sold off. We're meeting at my apartment to discuss the details since I'm pretty sure Sue has my choir room bugged." He paused. "Hopefully she doesn't have a camera in here."

"Huh? Nah, I rented some anti-spy equipment. Run it across the walls and floors and it destroys all electronic equipment. Ruined my heart rate monitor but it's better than having Sue watch me change into my gym shorts."

Wait… They were going to raise money. Raise *money.* For Sam. So that they could… *buy* him?

Dave had to lean against the wall for support, his mind was moving so fast. The shock was making him feel sick to his stomach. No, no, no. This couldn't be happening! He loved his Master, more than any other Master he'd ever known, though slaves weren't actually supposed to have favorites. Love all masters equally and all that shit. But if it came down to a choice between him and *Sam Evans*, he couldn't even *begin* to compete! Hell, even if Master Kurt decided to keep them both, He'd never have a use for Dave again. And so there really *was* no reason to keep them both.

What would happen to him? Would he return to Master's family's estate? Be auctioned on the block? Be sold for pharmaceutical testing or sex work? Be put into a factory to slowly die as he worked an assembly line for twenty-two hours a day, huffing chemicals and living off caffeine pills?

It had been too much. Dave's common sense and slave mindset had been overcome by the thought of losing his Master. He'd sprinted for the field and pulled out his phone, trying to pretend nothing was wrong when Azimio asked what had his panties in a twist, then he's slowly and steadily texted Master over and over again, his head swimming while he tried to remember whether the 'q' or the 'k' made a 'kuh' sound. Trying his best to make the texts sound like his normal curiosity, not the overwhelming panic he was feeling. Oh, God, he had needed his Master so bad! But he hadn't received a single answer.

Finally, unable to take it anymore, he'd gotten Azimio took look up Mr. Schue's address on the spiderweb or whatever they called it, saying he was gonna TP his balcony later, and then ditched practice while Azimio was running through the tire line, hopping the fence and using the small amount of money Master gave him for emergencies to get a cab, hoping desperately he had used the correct bill and not paid the man, like, enough to buy a house or something. He *really* needed to start working harder at learning his money. That one just made him feel super uncomfortable since, legally, slaves weren't allowed to use money. Not that a common person was going to refuse it or anything.

He'd known damn well that he would deserve some serious punishment by the end of the day, but he just hadn't cared, mind overwhelmed by the horrific image of Mr. Sam in a collar and slave shorts, kneeling before Master while Dave stood on the curb wrapped in transport chains waiting for the slave traders to pick him up.

So when Master Kurt had finally answered his texts and the cabbie read out his invitation to Mr. Schue's, Dave had leapt from the car and ran for his Master, not even pausing to think how furious Master would be to find out Dave had been sitting in a cab outside the apartment long before he had been summoned.

The second he'd stepped foot through the door and seen Master Kurt's shocked face, however, he had begun to seriously regret his actions. What *had* he been thinking, misbehaving like an untrained slave? Dave's extensive training background combined with his whole-hearted and very sincere obedience was the one thing he *did* have on Mr. Sam! And here he was, acting like he hadn't been through a single day of training?

Dave had been trained by one of the top slavemasters in the country, Paul Karofsky. As a boy he had won several state and national titles, including Best Personal Pleasure—Youth Division, Total Submission to Discipline, and Most Creative Service—Male Division. So, at the one moment when it was *most* important to impress his Master, what had he done? He'd blatantly broken all the rules in a moment of panic, making himself look exactly like what Miss Mercedes had called him—a half trained animal! Mr. Sam could serve as well as Dave had today with *no* training because Dave had acted like a fucking freeman! He was such an idiot!

He was grateful Master wasn't angrier with him than He was. Hell, he was really lucky it had turned out that Master Kurt *did* need him to be there or he would have been swimming in shit. Of course, discovering that the reason he was needed was so that he could help train Mr. Sam to take his place wasn't exactly what he'd call a blessing.

Of course, there was all that talk about setting Mr. Sam free. But seriously, if they planned to set him free then why have Dave teach him how to be a slave? Why waste all the time and effort training him? Yes, it was true that freemen's minds were often broken by slave training, but Dave's help wouldn't change that. Dave was a *Born-slave*, a ihomo servus/i, not a person like Mr. Sam was. He couldn't help Mr. Sam because he didn't have a clue how freemen thought. He just knew that they were more complex and selfish than slaves, caring first and foremost about personal happiness and constructing complicated schemes to make that happen, other people be damned.

Slaves and freemen were just too different for one to become the other. Each one had their place and, in Dave's opinion, that was where they needed to remain. In all honestly, Dave was glad he was a slave. His mind might be simpler, but why was that such a bad thing?

As a child, after the work was finished for the night, Dave and the other young slaves would sit in the kitchen and listen to the slavewoman they called 'Mawmaw' tell them stories. One of his favorites had always been the Tale of the Noble Slave. It was the story of a rich king who had been riding through the woods on his way to the city, dressed in jewels and fancy clothes. Even as a child he had been swathed in silks and played with diamonds as toys, and he had known no hardship. But his greatest joy was seeing the happiness of the people in his kingdom which is why he had taken this trip to see them.

His journey had taken him longer than expected, however, and the sun was beginning to set. The king was afraid because he knew that, with the splendor of his gold-threaded cloak and the rubies in his crown, the fairies would come in the night and kidnap him back to their mounds. He didn't know how to fight or scheme because he had always been given everything he wanted. As the last hint of sunshine disappeared, the king fell into great despair, knowing he would never see the people he loved again.

And a fairy did come. However, when it sprung out of the woods to drag him away, another man jumped from where he had been hiding in a ditch, watching the king, and used his lead hammer to knock out the fairy. With the threat gone, the rich man just wanted to leave, and go to the city to be with his people, but the poor man insisted that they chain it up so that, in return for its release, it would owe them a wish. The man who had saved the king wanted this badly because he was very poor and had spent his whole life working desperately for the few things he had. With a wish, he said, he could be like the king and have everything he wanted. The king knew he owed his life to the poor man so he agreed, and they tied up the fairy, waiting for it to awake. When it finally opened its eyes, the poor man told it that, if it wanted its freedom, it would grant him a wish. The fairy was obviously angry but, trapped, it agreed.

What the king didn't know, however, was that the poor man had been following on his journey, watching him with great jealousy from the shadows all day. The poor man wanted nothing more than to *be* the king, so he told the fairy that he wanted it to switch their bodies so that he would be the mighty king and the king could be the poor man. The fairy agreed and the men's bodies were switched, the force of it knocking them unconscious.

When they awoke the fairy was gone, but it had been very sly. The men had angered it when they captured it so, though it had followed the word of the wish, it did not follow the spirit of it. For the fairy had also switched the *world* so that the body that was once the poor man's would be recognized by all as the king who was now inside it, and the king's old body would be recognized as the poor man-so the poor man was still penniless, despite his new face.

The poor man cried out in anger, but the king just smiled at him and removed his crown, setting it upon the poor man's head. 'I have always been a servant of his people,' he said, and the poor man was one of his people. It saddened him that the poor man's life had been so hard that he felt he had to resort to trickery and wishes to live in joy. For the king had grown up in an easy, simple world-in golden palaces where all the things the common folk worked endlessly to earn were given to him for free-and so he knew that it was *not* these things that made you happy. Rather it was the joy of knowing that those whose tributes had made you rich were happy as well. The poor man's life saddened him, and he knew that what would bring him joy was not rubies or gold but to see a smile on the other man's face. And so he explained to the poor man that he was willing to give up his crown to him, and live a life faithfully with him as his king, just so that he could know that he lived happily in his kingdom.

The poor man was shocked, saying that serving as a Master of people was not the same as serving a life of hard work under a nobleman master. 'You must have some trick planned!' he cried, for, since his mind was quick and spent all its time thinking of ways to better his life, he assumed that all men were that way. 'No man would give up the glory of ruling so easily. Especially not when I tried to trick you out of your crown!'

The king just laughed and said, 'If you do not trust me, then let me be bound to you. I owe you my life and it is the simplest things in this world that please me. I want nothing more than to know that my service, be it as king or as slave, brings joy to those who live in this kingdom. So I will work for you, as a servant would to his master, your pleasure and pride in me my greatest reward. And you will care for me, as would a king would to his people. And in this way, we will both find happiness.'

Though they'd thought it had fled back to its mounds, the fairy they'd caught had been hiding in the woods this whole time, watching them. It had set up its trick carefully, you see, certain that the king would kill the man who had tried to steal his crown and then, with no one to protect him, the fairy could drag the king and his jewels back to his mound. However, the fairy was so impressed by the heart of the king and the truth in his words that it cast a spell to bind the two together, alike in face but different in spirit, so that each could give to the other and find joy in their lives. And so the first true slave was born, and he was noble.

Dave had always loved the story because he felt that was the truest essence of what Born-slaves were. Because their minds were simpler they didn't need to waste time wondering how they could better themselves—their pleasure came from serving others. But Mr. Sam was not a child of the Noble Slave, but of the poor man turned king. A freeman. He didn't think like Dave would, so how did Master Kurt think Dave could help him?

A slave's mind was simple because it was goal-oriented and well defined. A slave did as told because it would please Master and Master's pleasure pleased a slave. From what Dave had observed, however, freemen's minds were constantly focused on achieving more and more in hopes that, eventually, they would have achieved enough to finally be happy-and if you were forced to set others back to achieve, well, that was just what you should do. And the freemen seemed to think that was a fine and dandy way to live.

Dave just thought it sounded pretty damn exhausting, honestly. Why not just focus on the task at hand, and find joy in completing it? Even if the task was not joyous, such as taking punishment, something good would come of it, a bettering of yourself or even just the pleasure of your Master. But First-gens didn't seem to see punishment as the blessing it was. Instead it made them angry and belligerent. Dave didn't get why, though. It made your Master proud of you for taking it and it felt nice when your Master was proud of you. No one wanted their Master to be ashamed of them. So, in Dave's mind, the idea of "helping Sam through training" was absurd-what could he tell to a freeman to make it any better? There was no making things better-slaves just *accepted* it and, if Mr. Sam was willing, he could do that on his own.

But it *would* make sense for Dave to train Mr. Sam if Master Kurt *actually* planned to purchase him from the bank when his training was over. By having Dave train him, Mr. Sam would already know how Master liked to be served and his master would be a hero in his friends' eyes and Dave bet it would go a long way toward Mercedes forgiving Him. It was a win win situation for his Master.

Dave swallowed hard, trying to ignore the lump in his throat, as he was suddenly shaken out of his morose thoughts by his Master's voice.

"So you're saying you *lied* to me?"

Dave dropped his head and moved into the kitchen behind his Master, who was perching himself in one of the chairs at the table. Dave's heart was pounding, muscles so tense it felt like they were about to snap. It was all he could do just to hold back the tears. A slave did *not* lie to its Master. Ever. Refusals, demands, questions, and lies were just a few of the things that had been hammered into Dave as things slaves did NOT let pass over the tongues. He felt like a total failure. And if there was ever a worse time to be a failure as a slave, Dave couldn't imagine it. Not with Mr. Sam and his pretty blonde hair on the horizon.

"It was… a lie of omission, Master." Which was no different than a flat out lie. A slave owed its Master complete and utter honesty, in every way.

Kurt frowned and picked up one of the fake apples they had sitting in a bowl on the table as decoration. Dave pursed his lips, studying his Master carefully, looking for signs...

Yes, Master was hungry.

He took a deep breath and headed over to the fridge to pull out some fruit. Intensive service training had taught him how to analyze a Master's needs without having to bother Him by asking. You watched for all the little clues. The way He had, without thinking about it, chosen to sit in the kitchen instead of the den or his bedroom. How He looked tired but not ready to sleep. How He kept licking His lips and moving His mouth around. Anticipating Master's every need was a major part of service. Why would a Master want a slave that he had to order to do every single, little thing? A slave should be able to look at its Master and just tell.

He wondered idly if Mr. Sam would understand that.

Dave pulled a knife out of the chopping block and began to slice the strawberries in quick, perfect strokes. It was a good excuse to have his back to Master Kurt so that he could wipe away the tears before He saw them. Dave had gotten his dumb self into this situation and he didn't want to make his soft-hearted Master feel sad.

"I didn't tell You everything when You asked why I ignored Your lack of instruction and chose to come to Mr. Schue's on my own. I heard Coach and Mr. Schue talking about Mr. Sam in Coach's office... then it made me worried when you didn't answer the texts I sent…" Made him worry that his Master didn't want him want anymore. "I was worried that you might be in trouble. Slave trade being… dangerous." How lame. The slave trade wasn't dangerous for an elite like Master Kurt. More like he was terrified that his Master wasn't *ever* going to answer him *ever* again and that he might find himself being hauled out of football practice by a slave trader or something crazy like that. As if a good Master like his would do that.

Dave dropped the strawberries into a bowl he pulled from the cupboard then moved on to slicing little squares of watermelon. "After hearing about Mr. Sam, I was just really worried. You know, that You might get hurt in this somehow."

More like he was worried about his own ass. God, he was such a selfish slave. Trainer Karofsky would be disgusted by him right now. Dave really hoped Master Kurt would punish him badly. Not even the sting of a bullwhip or the burn of a brand could take away the guilt he was feeling right now. And yet, deep down, he was *still* mostly worried about himself! He should be focused entirely on training Mr. Sam as best as he could so that his Master would be happy when he was gone, not worrying what it would be like to wake up without the scent of Master Kurt's favorite perfume in the air! He was a *slave*, dammit, and a *good* slave! Where the hell were these selfish thoughts coming from? He disgusted himself sometimes.

"So I used the phone to text you, Master, even though I knew it was wrong. And I look forward to my punishment for that. But when You didn't respond… I decided I should go and find You. Just to make sure it was all… okay." God, could he be any lamer sounding? Dave swallowed deeply as he topped off the fruit salad with some pineapple, using his shoulder to wipe at his moist eyes as casually as he could before he turned around and set the bowl in front of his Master.

Master was staring at him in total disbelief, His delicate mouth in a little 'o.' The look made Dave's stomach lurch. He couldn't even imagine the disappointment his Master must be feeling in him.

Dave was to Kurt what the elite called their 'prizes.' Prized slaves were special. Most of the elite had dozens of slaves, all totally interchangeable with one another. It didn't matter which slave served them dinner or washed their clothes or even warmed their bed, really. But it wasn't uncommon for a slavemaster to have one special slave whose purpose was to serve only them. These slaves were usually well trained and very expensive, the most coveted of posessions.

The bond Dave had with his Master had started in the way many slavemasters found their prize—he had been given to Master Kurt as a child and they had grown up together.

'Prize' was a good term for them, because there tended to be a lot of bragging associated with owning them. Whose slave had been trained by the most prestigious mater, whose slave had won the most show titles, that sort of thing. When someone acquired a new prize slave, it was always the hottest gossip. And here Dave was, supposedly a prize, behaving badly enough that his Master's best friend had called him an animal. And the fact that she didn't realize his bullying was pretend was no excuse. He had been so mouthy tonight he was surprised Master hadn't reached out and smacked him, their secret be damned. He had gone far beyond the bounds of his jock persona, targeting Master's friends in a private situation for no reason.

Hell, he'd been acting like a freeman, for God's sake! Though slaves were trained to pass in front of common people, there were also certain bodily positions and behaviors they were taught to show their respect and submission to those who knew what they were looking for. A sort of secret handshake that said 'I'm acting like a freeman but I am here only to please my Master." Dave had abandoned those behaviors completely at Mr. Schue's place.

Master Kurt continued to stare at him for a moment, then His mouth turned down in a frown and He stood a little, reaching out to grab at Dave's thick metal collar. Master Kurt dragged him down as He collapsed back into his chair, giving his slave a smart slap to the cheek. Dave tilted his head with the force of the hit, dropping his eyes.

"Thank you, Master," he murmured as Master released him.

"You know better to lie to me, even a little," Master Kurt said, voice a little prissy. He didn't sound nearly angry enough, though, in Dave's opinion. "Eavesdropping, taking initiative, lying, being smart mouthed at inappropriate times? What is going on, slave David? You haven't misbehaved this much since… You know what, I can't even remember the last time you misbehaved this much. It is one thing to accidentally wash my white DKNY jeans with my red silk boxers—though you deserved every smack you got for that one, silly boy! It's another thing entirely to misbehave knowing full well what you're doing! You said it yourself. You *knew* what you were doing was bad, David. I am your Master. Why would you hold anything back from Me? And just what good did you think could possibly come from sticking your nose in My business? I realize that you were worried, pet, and that it is your duty as a slave to protect Me, but I am the Master, Dave! If I had needed you, I would have contacted you! And I *did* contact you when I needed you! Do you think your Master is incapable of taking care of Himself, David? Is that it?"

Dave blinked back tears, dropping to his knees with a thunk, palms to the tile, lowering his head until his nose brushed the cold ground. "No, Master, I do not think You are incapable of taking care of Yourself. You are very capable. You take care of Yourself and of Your slave as well. I wasn't thinking, Master, I was just reacting and it was stupid. But please, Master, don't be angry at my stupidity. I'm only a slave. I made a bad choice. Several bad choices. Choices You wouldn't have made. But I'm so far from You I… I… I can't think up a good comparison, okay? Like a Little Person to Michael Jordan? I dunno. But I have been very, very bad." He lowered himself even further, far enough that he had to turn his cheek to the side against the flooring so he could speak. "And I look forward to my extensive punishment. This slave is ready for correction."

There was a loud sighing sound and a hand came down to play in Dave's hair for a moment before tugging lightly at it, a silent order to lift his head. Dave raised his upper body into an almost-but-not-quite upright position, looking up at his Master hopefully.

"It's okay, big boy. As long as you know what you did was bad and that I expect it to never happen again."

Dave nodded quickly, frowning slightly at the way his Master's eyes were drooping. Master looked exhausted. And now He would have to expend more energy punishing His slave. Dave's stomach churned with guilt and he licked his lips, mouth feeling dry.

"Master? May I ask something of you?"

Master Kurt waved His hand to go ahead and Dave dropped his eyes respectfully.

"I would like to suggest a punishment fitting for my behavior. Master is obviously is exhausted and I don't want to make Your night any worse. So I would like to suggest that you reconsider my going hungry and thirsty. And that you consider it for a longer period of time due to the sever-soveren-ety-e—" Dammit, what was that word? He wanted to impress his Master! It had only been six days ago on the Word A Day calendar. He was just so stressed that it was hard to remember.

"Severity?" Master Kurt sounded so tired. His poor Master.

"Yes. The severity of my behavior. Maybe three days with no food and a daily cup of water? Starvation and dehydration are fair punishments for lying and wouldn't tax Master." It was a light sentence, in Dave's mind. If he had lied, even by omission, to Master Karofsky, he might not have survived the punishment. Three days with no food was nothing. He'd once been put on a punishment fast for twenty days for claiming he had finished painting the gazebo when, in truth, he was just almost done. But Master Kurt felt such punishments were extreme. For some reason He felt that lying about, say, having washed the dishes in lemon soap when you really washed them in lavender, was less offensive than saying you hadn't wrecked the car when you had. In Dave's mind they were both lies and, therefore, deserved equal punishment. "And since my behavior was so severe, Master, if you do not think this punishment is enough I will also whip myself so that Master won't have to."

Master Kurt shoved a piece of watermelon in His mouth and Dave watched with interest as His finger caught a drip of juice running down his chin. His Master was so beautiful.

"…Okay, Dave. You're right, lies, despite good intentions, are inexcusable and I find your lack of faith in my ability to handle myself offensive. After I finish eating you will whip yourself and then you'll be going on punishment rations for three days. But I want you to eat *all* your rations, not try to starve yourself to prove something. Though please don't eat that icky SPAM where I can see it. Yuck. Just the look of the stuff is nasty. But you will *not* starve yourself—you're a growing boy and a big one at that—and you will drink as much water as you need, no limiting it, not even mildly uncomfortable thirst. I want you to be alert and at your best for this whole Sam thing, okay?"

Dave's stomach kind of felt ill at those last words but he dropped his head submissively, eyes lowered in respect. He needed to get over these… feelings. He lived for his Master's pleasure and if he, himself, was no longer enough to make Master happy then he should be glad that he would be passed on and his Master could have the slave He wanted and deserved. It was his selfishness that had gotten him in trouble today and it was time to let it go. He would train Mr. Sam as best he could, then leave his Master's home respectfully, happy in the knowledge that he had served Him as well as he was able.

"I'll do my very best to please You, Master Kurt," he said, daring to glance up and look at his Master's face. Master was smiling down at him and it made his heart leap. He was so lovely. "I'm only a slave and certainly don't have the abilities of a trainer or handler, but I will do my very best to make sure Mr. Sam is able to serve as well as he possibly can and that you'll be pleased with his training. Because I would do *anything* for you, Master."

Master Kurt's smile grew even wider and Dave's heart warmed. "I know you would, David. That's what makes you such a very good boy."

o o o

"Two, Master," Dave called out, voice steady, as the belt came down on its bare back, leaving a vivid red stripe in its place. Kurt nodded idly then glanced back down at the issue of Vogue he was flipping through. Marion Cotillard was so fabulous. There was another crack and he glanced up again as Dave murmured the words, "Three, Master."

The big lug looked rather ridiculous, sitting butt naked on the end of Kurt's bed, turned at an angle so that Kurt could see both its front and its back. It had a thin, glittery pink belt in one hand—Kurt's favorite—and Kurt had a feeling it had chosen that one for its Master's amusement. It had really wanted to use the whip stuffed in the back of Kurt's closet that his grandparents had given his visit last summer, but Kurt had quickly denied him the "pleasure," as Dave had called it.

It was actually a beautiful little whip, only about 4' long from handle to tip, and was made out of finely braided leather so soft it felt like velvet yet so stiff that it took almost no skill to throw it. The handle had an image of a rose with flower petals flying off it pressed like they'd been touched by the wind pressed into the leather. The end was shining silver with a 'K' engraved in it. But what really made it fine was its construction. It was precisely weighted to fall against the flesh of the slave at the precise moment it cracked—the instant when it was moving the fastest, breaking the sound barrier—which allowed it to be thrown with ease, no practice necessary.

Usually slave handlers or trainers were called in when slaves were to be punished with whips, since they could easily fly back and hit the person doing the whipping in the face if they didn't know what they were doing. Hell, usually slavemasters didn't bother punishing slaves personally at all, unless it was their prized slave, and would only do so in extreme cases. But there were times for "making a point." These whips had filled a gap in the whip maker's market, guaranteeing marks yet requiring no practice. Hell, the things could even break bone if they struck in the right place. 'Remberance whips' they were called, since their use would certainly be remembered forever. But in Kurt's mind there were far too many "memories" on his slave's body already, the dozens of thin, white lines witness to the brutality with which slaves were trained.

Kurt had only used the whip once, not long after he'd gotten. He'd been in a fit of rage that hadn't even been Dave's fault after Mr. Schue had refused to let him sing 'Defying Gravity' just because he was a boy. He'd been simmering in his room, imagining ways to set Mr. Schue's hair gunk on fire, when Dave had walked in and knocked the faberge egg his mother had given him just before she died off the dresser, shattering it to pieces. He had lost it completely, yanking off Dave's clothes and shoving the slave down on the ground as he grabbed the whip off the privacy partition where he'd hung it.

Ten minutes later Dave's back and ass had been a bloody mess, tears running down its face as it crawled to him on hands and knees, not even noticing when the glass pieces from the fallen egg cut into his palms, thanking Kurt over and over again between sobs and whimpers for correcting it and swearing that it would never, ever disappoint him in any way ever again.

Thankfully Kurt had been wearing shoes so he didn't cut his feet to pieces on the broken glass as he fled into the bathroom and puked in the toilet. And it had just kept coming up as he remembered the blood running down that pale back, the smear on Dave's face from where it had rubbed its cut hands against its cheek, the low whines it let out each time it took a breath. And then suddenly Dave was in the bathroom with him, holding his head and wiping away Kurt's vomit with its own hand as it whispered comforting words and laid gentle kisses on his cheeks where the tears had spilled down. Really, he couldn't possibly have a better slave.

Kurt had never felt so guilty in his life than after that little incident. He had never used the remembrance whip again. Seeing the scars he had added to his slave's already mottled skin was reminder enough that whips were not toys and, while a belt might leave welts and a backhand could bruise, a whip could mutilate a person. It had been terrifyingly easy to do, the leather cutting the flesh like it was butter. One cut was so deep that, the next day, Kurt had walked in on Dave lying on the bathroom floor, turned at an awkward angle as it tried to to stitch up a slash on its buttock with Kurt's emergency sewing kit.

That had been when Kurt discovered that first aid was a part of slave training. Apparently they would cut a slave's thigh and make it stitch it up by itself. Somehow he didn't think the medical board would approve.

In the end Kurt had come clean to his dad about what he'd done and they'd taken Dave to the Slave Clinic on the corner of Melrose for stitches. Burt had been absolutely furious with his son and, to be honest, Kurt hadn't felt much better about it. Slaves might not be people but they *were* living creatures. He wouldn't beat a dog bloody, why would he do it to a slave? But Dave had defended Kurt for hours to his dad, going on and on and on about how grateful it was for the whipping until the older man had given up trying to berate Kurt and stormed off into his shop with a huff of anger. Kurt was pretty sure his dad had a few choice words with his grandmother, too, about ever giving him that whip.

"Five, Master." Dave threw the belt over its shoulder, letting it fall against its back with a loud smacking sound. "Six, Master. Seven, Master. Eight, Master. Nine, Master. Ten, Master."

The red lines were already starting to turn into welts. Dave definitely wasn't holding his throws.

"Eleven more and you're done," Kurt said, flipping the page in his magazine. One for each of those crazy texts you sent me. You know you're just supposed to *answer* your phone, not use it for your own pleasure!"

"Yes, Master, I know. Eleven, Master. Twelve, Master. Thirteen, Master. I really am sorry about the texts, Master Kurt. I dunno what was wrong with me. Fourteen, Master. Would you like to strike your slave, Master?"

"Nor particularly," Kurt said shortly. "What I want to do is take a nice, hot bath and not think about the disaster that's going to unfold tomorrow when we take Mercedes to an elite mall. So finish up already. You need a bath, too. You *still* stink like sweat."

Dave nodded and switched the angle in which it was holding the belt, smacking it down so it struck along his thighs and groin. Kurt winced. That had to hurt, even if the slave was wearing a metal chastity device. It covered enough to keep it from being able to get an erection, but it didn't cover enough not to feel a belt smacking against its cock and balls. "Fifteen, Master." Again across the groin. Dave made a small face, which said something considering how high of a pain tolerance it had. "Sixteen, master." Now against its chest. "Seventeen, master." Back to the groin. "Eighteen, master." Around the side to strike the ribs. "Nineteen, Master." Back to the back, right along the spine. That would probably bruise. "Twenty, Master. May I ask where you would like me to place the last mark, Master?"

"Butt," Kurt said shortly, knowing it was the least painful place to take a strike. After those three hits to the groin, it had damn well been punished enough. "And blame Coach Bieste and her hitchhiking gophers."

Dave chuckled then obeyed, bending so far forward that it looked crude and slapping the belt hard across its bare buttocks. "Twenty-One, Master, for twenty-one texts." It gave him a small smile, its face red and its breath coming a little too fast. "Thank you for overseeeing my punishment, Master Kurt." It stood, carefully hanging the belt back in Kurt's closet then returning to kneel beside the bed, resting its chin on the edge as it looked up at Kurt. "May I ask if you would like me to start your bath, Master?"

Oh, yes. Maybe if he was lucky the water would wash away some of this tension. "Do it."

Dave stood immediately, moving off toward the bathroom, and Kurt gave a little yawn, setting aside his Vogue and stretching out his legs, flexing his tippy toes. Man, this was really just nuts. It was like his whole world had been turned upside down. Tomorrow, when he went to school, everyone would know that he owned a slave. He wasn't naive enough to believe that the Glee Club would keep something like that to themselves. It was probably all over Facebook by now. He wondered how people would react. There were a couple dozen slaves who attended McKinley but he didn't know of any slavemasters. Unless they kept it hidden like himself. But it wasn't likely. They were smack dab in the middle of Lima, Ohio, after all, and it wasn't exactly full of elites. Plus, most elite kids went to snobby private boarding schools where the school itself owned slaves to do things like wash their panties and make them midnight snacks.

Dave came to stand in the doorway to the bathroom, the backlighting making it look dark and huge. "Your bath is filling, Master," it said, as if the soft sound of running water wasn't clue enough, then it moved toward the bed, reaching down and scooping Kurt up in its big, strong arms.

Kurt let out a high pitched shriek, lightly smacking his slave on the back of the head. "You silly boy! I can walk myself to the bathroom, thank you very much!"

"You look tired, Master," it said, voice serious but an amused smile on its face. Silly lug.

Dave settled Kurt down on the edge of the bathroom counter and reached out, big fingers beginning to work at the buttons on Kurt's sweater. Kurt ran a finger affectionately along its chest, dragging down the dark little curls, as he studied its broad shoulders. It was amazingly adorable for such a size, the big giant.

"I should make you wax this again," he said with a little sniff, though honestly he thought the hair was very masculine and attractive. "It's not very slave-like to have chest hair. And down there, too," he added, pointing down at the curly triangle around where the metal of Dave's chastity device began.

"Whatever pleases Master," it said with a little smirk. "Though explaining to Azimio where my body hair all went should be interesting. And he'll probably want to have the conversation in the cafeteria, as loudly as possible."

Kurt giggled and ran his fingers through Dave's hair. "Okay, maybe we'll wait until summer."

"It would make a fair punishment in this slave's humble opinion," Dave said, looking amused, "though the female slaves I have served with seemed to think that is a silly thing to say and that the *real* punishment is having hairy legs."

"Oh, waxing isn't that bad!" Kurt protested, scowling when Dave just looked down pointedly at Kurt's smooth chest. "And just because I can't seem to grow any damn chest hair doesn't mean I don't know what I'm talking about! I wax my legs, after all!"

"The nipples are different, Master Kurt," Dave said and Kurt laughed.

"Such a silly boy…" He trailed off as Dave's fingers moved nimbly downward to unbutton his pants. "Mmmm…"

Dave looked up at him, staring for a moment, then slipped its big hand beneath the fabric, gentle strokes along the shaft of Kurt's cock making him shiver.

"Oh, David…" Kurt whispered, running a hand down its chest to pinch at the aforemention nipples. God, it had such a wonderful chest.

This was going to be a very pleasant evening. Really, he couldn't ask for a more noble slave.


	5. Ch 5: Personal Pleasure

**Wanna read on LJ instead of evil ffnet? Find it at pucktheperv [dot] livejournal [dot] com [slash] tag [slash] bornthisslave  
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**Summary:** Everything is going well for Glee Club until a drop in the economy leaves one of their own in a desperate situation. The bank is foreclosing on Sam and he is about to be sent into a world of legal slavery - a trade that is entirely foreign to everyone except the highest of society. The situation seems helpless until Kurt comes forward with a secret that may save Sam's life-but it may also lose Kurt his friends when they find out that one of their own is, in fact, a slavemaster.

**Author's Notes:** Once again, this was part of a larger chapter that was too big for LJ... so I made this a **Just Smut** chapter, LOL, other half coming tomorrow. For those who wonder: Dave is not dumb, Kurt is not evil, this society's just fucked up, and this is eventually a romance slave!fic. But I'm kinky so there's gonna be kinky stuff. That just be how it is. ;) For those who feel freaky readin' slave!fic... I promise, it's a And They Humped Happily Ever After story in the end! :D And for those of you who have noticed my interesting acronyms... Yes, Dave won Best Personal Pleasure Slave from ASS-the American Slaver's Society. o.O I must amuse myself somehow!

o o o

**Chapter 5: Personal Pleasure**

o o o

There was a sharp pinch as Master Kurt found his nipple. Dave smiled to himself. Master Kurt had such a fascination with his chest. Though their little chest hair argument was an old one. Honestly, Dave didn't care if he had body hair or not. It meant nothing to him, though traditional slave grooming involved removal of all pubic, chest, and leg hair. And he was pretty sure that traditional Dumb Jock didn't, at least if the enormous amounts of it to be seen in the locker room showers at McKinley were anything to judge by.

He had a hard time remembering the whole Guy Code thing about not looking at crotches or whatever since, as a slave, nudity wasn't a big deal. He thought it was a lot of bullshit anyway. He'd definitely had more than one guy ask him about the metal wrapped around his dick, so obviously people still took peeks.

But Master Kurt seemed to shift back and forth on whether He wanted to be able to tug at the small curls that ran down Dave's pecs and around his genitals or if He wanted to be able to kiss down a smooth, hairless chest. So Dave would be waxed, then Master Kurt would have him grow it out, then He'd decide to wax it again.

Whatever pleased Master was fine with Dave. It was just hair. He wasn't sure why it was such a big deal to freemen.

Master Kurt's finger trailed down his chest, running downward around Dave's belly button, then going in for a quick poke that made Dave smile. After a moment the finger began its way down again, following the thin line of hair on his lower abdomen until it reached the thicker triangle between his legs. Master grasped at the short, thick curls, tugging in a way that was more pleasurable than painful, and Dave let out a little gasp.

Master Kurt leaned forward, pressing His soft lips to Dave's, His tongue slipping in, and a hot discomfort began to grow between Dave's legs as his dick tried to swell and found itself unable. He was surprised it was even trying, considering that he'd hit it with a belt three times that night and at least one had landed right on the flesh peeking through. Ready or not though, it was unable to rise, wrapped tightly in the metal casing, the small size and downward angle of the cock cage keeping it at bay. It didn't really bother Dave, though, despite the fact that, when Master Kurt really teased him, it became a sharp pain. He was a teenager, fill of hormones, so his dick spent a lot of time trying and failing to rise. He'd been in some form of chastity since just before he hit puberty, so he'd never actually felt a full on erection and the irritation was normal for him.

Dave had heard that long time chastity could cause a slave to be unable to perform later in life and, since they were often bred, most slavemasters removed the device every once and awhile for monitored orgasms. One of the handlers at Master Kurt's family estates had put it on him just before he turned twelve, however, and Master Kurt had never offered to remove it. And, since He had never offered, Dave had never questioned it.

If his Master wanted him to be sterile, that was none of his business. Some slaves were even gelded, so Dave figured he was lucky enough to still be intact. And maybe, just maybe, there was a chance that someday Master Kurt would decide to breed him-or even just allow him release to make sure he was able in the future.

Of course, "the future" now was a mere six months, then Master would have someone prettier who was *definitely* able.

The discomfort between his legs was suddenly distinctly less and Dave forced the thought from his mind. He was there to pleasure his Master, not think depressing thoughts about his Master's future with Sam Evans' dick. He really shouldn't even be thinking about his *own* cock, he should be focused on Master. Though the way Master looked when He moaned made it hard *not* to focus on the quickly returning ache between his legs.

Though, honestly, if erections were as uncomfortable as they looked, Dave might actually be lucky to be denied them.

Really, he needed to think about Other Things. It was *not* considered appropriate for slaves to partake in sexual conduct. At one time both males and females had been kept in chastity but, in modern society, apparently females were considered trustworthy while males were not. So while females wore nothing, almost all males were locked into a metal chastity device, either a full belt that restricted the penis and anus or, more commonly since slaves were often mounted anally, a metal sort of cage thing that fit snugly around the base of the limp penis, encasing the testicles and keeping the shaft at a downward angle, preventing erections. It also meant you had to pee sitting down, but whatever.

As Dave ran his hand along the soft, silky skin of Master Kurt's hard shaft he wondered idly if his own erection would look like Master's, then pushed the idea away as foolish. It didn't matter. It wasn't his place to want release. In fact, he was probably better off without it if it made you as crazy as it made Puckerman and Hudson and Azimio and all the other jocks as McKinley. Knocking up girls, getting it on in hot tubs, jerking off to CSI… It kind of made them crazy. Hell, when Azimio had seen Dave's device he had actually offered to try and pry it off with a hammer. Dave had laughed for a split second before realizing Azimio was dead serious, then fled before the boy could actually try.

Seriously, it was like they were controlled by their penises.

When Dave was only eight years old he had won the Youth Division title for Best Personal Pleasure at the American Slave Society's annual show. He had been trained in pleasure by Master Karofsky himself, and not just in the mechanics of things like sex, massage, and bathing. Master Karofsky taught personal pleasure as an art form. Every master was your canvass and it was your duty to find out what would make it beautiful.

He had been taught to read every movement, every sound, from the slightest intake of breath to a shiver to a scream. Asking a Master what He wanted was common and vulgar. It was a slave's job to see, hear, and feel everything as it was mounted and decide what it was that brought Master the greatest pleasure, then use that knowledge extensively in the future.

Master Kurt loved to play with Dave's chest, and to run His fingers through Dave's hair. He loved it when Dave would lower himself between Master's thighs and kiss them gently, all over, blowing lightly on the sensitive skin high up near His balls. Master enjoyed it when Dave would lay on his stomach and He would lay on top of him and wrap His long arms around Dave's wide back. He liked it when Dave would take juicy fruits between his lips and pass them on to Master and He loved to have bubble wars in the bathtub—but He always had to win or He would pout for hours!

Master Kurt loved it when Dave would suckle His lips and suckle His balls, and he did each with equal care and patience. Master preferred to mount Dave from the front so that He could run His hands down Dave's chest while He thrust, and His mountings were usually gentle and slow. When Master Kurt was particularly excited, however, such as when he had just come from a New Directions show, he would mount Dave from behind and take him roughly, hands in Dave's hair, whispering in his ear to call out his name.

Master Kurt's waist was so small, or perhaps Dave's hands were just so big, that he could almost wrap them around that tiny middle, and his big thumbs brushed against Master's belly button as Dave hefted Him onto the edge of the counter, then dropped to his knees in front of Him, hands sliding from that little waist to rest on those pale thighs.

Master's skin felt like silk beneath his fingers, soft but textured, with the little tiny hairs He'd missed when waxing tickling Dave's fingertips.

The counter was an almost perfect height, Master Kurt's arching cock making it a little high, but Dave could stretch.

He began at the balls, using his nose to tenderly nudge at the sac, feeling them move against him, then he pressed his mouth to them, kissing deeply, tongue flicking out to taste them like they were lips. He rubbed the side of his face up and down Master's hard shaft, then moved his head sharply to the side and slapped his own face against it, causing Master to take in a sharp breath, quickly followed by a little groan.

Dave lifted his eyes to watch as Master arched His back. So lovely.

He dropped his eyes submissively when Master glanced down at him and then turned his head to the side so that he could wrap his lips around the base of His cock and then slide them up and down, up and down the shaft. The angle was awkward but effective and he felt Master's fingers run through his hair.

Dave abandoned the shaft, lifting his body enough to bring his head down on Master Kurt's cock, engulfing it in one smooth motion. He breathed in carefully through his nose as it slid down quickly, bumping against the back of his throat, letting it set for a moment then carefully pressing it farther.

There was really no such thing as losing one's gag reflex in Dave's opinion, because, as a good pleasure slave, he had damn well tried. But if you stayed focused then you could grow used to the feeling and… after just a few moments, he was able to open his mouth and begin to every so carefully lip Master's balls into his mouth as well.

Master Kurt made a whining noise—but a *good* whining noise—as Dave slipped his hands from Master's thighs to help him gently finger His testicles into his mouth.

With no barrier left between Dave's face and Master's crotch, Dave began to make swallowing motions in his throat, nose pressing hard into Master's lower abdomen as he moved his tongue around in his mouth in time with the sucking.

"Oh, puppy, you're so good," Master moaned, making Dave's heart flutter as those fingers pulled harder on his hair. "Sooo good. Hot. Wet."

Dave smiled to himself, just that little movement making Master Kurt groan. His own cock pressed against the metal of his cage at the sound but he ignored the aching feeling, focusing on the way Master had begun to thrust.

He let Master's balls slip from his mouth, pulling back slightly so that Master could thrust harder, the motion making a wet, slapping sound accompanied by tiny gagging noises as He shoved Himself all the way in. It was uncomfortable, but Dave didn't mind. The sounds of pleasure his Master was making were making him shiver in delight.

"Waaait," Master Kurt said. It came out more of a moan than an order, but Dave obediently froze. What did Master need? "Wanna… inside you…"

Ah, okay.

Dave smiled again and it made Master moan once more. Who knew smiles could feel so nice?

He gave Master's cock one more suck, cheeks pulling inward as he lifted his head off Master with a soft popping noise.

There was a slightly salty taste in Dave's mouth, whether from sweat or pre-cum he wasn't sure, but it didn't matter. Either way it was his Master's and he loved it.

Dave lifted himself up off his knees, running his fingers up, up along Master's body. The skin was still smooth, but with a soft sheen of sweat along it. At least Dave was no longer the only one who smelled sweaty tonight.

He gently touched a fingertip to his lips and dropped his eyes, the silent gesture for permission to speak. Dave didn't speak during mountings unless specifically told to. Master probably had fantasies while taking his slave and Dave didn't want to ruin them by reminding Him that he was with a slave, not with a lover and that this was just a mounting, not lovemaking. This was a time for pleasing Master with his body, not for talking. Master should be able to use him without interruption.

Master Kurt blinked up at him, looking a little dazed. "Hm? Oh, you can speak."

"Thank you, Master," he murmured, voice low. He also dropped his head and touched his forehead in the wordless signal for 'thank you' as he continued to gently run his other hand along Master's abdomen so as not to distract Him too much from His pleasure. "May I ask if you will be having me in the bath or on the floor, Master?"

"Mmmmm, bath sounds nice if you can use those big arms of yours to keep me from slipping," Master Kurt said with a little giggle, running a finger down one of the aforementioned arms.

Dave bobbed his head twice for 'Yes, Master,' falling back into his silent slave vocabulary, and reached down, wrapping his arms around his Master and lifting Him up in one smooth motion, carrying Him toward the bath.

Made of white marble, it was large and was sunken into the floor so that you could step down into it. For the son of a common man, his Master had many nice things, though he didn't think Master Burt accepted much help from Master's elite family. He was simply a hard-working man and Dave understood why Master adored him so much.

Dave carefully stepped down into the hot water, using his foot to test it. It only burned a little but he knew that even that little burn would turn Master Kurt's skin red and make Him cry out—things that barely hurt Dave tended to pain his Master very badly. He used his other foot to adjust the faucets, turning the cold water on high, as he continued to hold his Master nestled in his arms, waiting for the water to cool. Master Kurt's erection rose from the smooth skin of his groin, catching Dave's eye as a little bit of fluid leaked from the tip. Dave ducked his head and gave it a quick licking, enjoying the salty taste on his tongue as Kurt gave him a joking slap to the shoulder.

"You tease," He said, voice light as He leaned up and pecked Dave on the cheek.

His Master was so precious.

Finally the water seemed cool enough and Dave stepped down further into the tub and slowly lowered himself and his Master into the water.

Master Kurt let out a moan of pleasure that sent a little tingle through Dave's chest and Dave quickly set to arranging himself into a position where Master could comfortably have His way with him. He sat on the lowest step at one end of the tub and lifted his legs upward, out of the water, hooking one leg over the side and propping his other ankle on a large soap dish attached to the wall. Hopefully the new molding he'd put on it would keep it tight. They had knocked it down before. Master Burt could probably fasten it better, but Dave knew Master Kurt was embarrassed to ask him.

Little waves rolled against Dave's thighs as Master Kurt swayed the water to mix in the lavender scented bubble bath he'd just dumped into it and Dave scooted downward as far as he could, pulling his wide spread knees up toward his head.

A little more fiddling and he was in a position that, while it put a bit of an ache on his tailbone, he knew would be very comfortable for Master. He then loosely placed his hands to either side, out of the way but there if Master wanted him to touch Him, and then dropped his head submissively, body relaxing, signaling that he was ready when Master was.

The strong scent of lavender made Dave's nose twitch but he resisted the urge to rub it, focusing his attention on the sounds of his Master.

There was a soft movement in the water, accompanied by some light splashing, then his Master was climbing atop him, kneeling on the floor of the tub just below the step where Dave's bottom was perched, and leaning forward to rest the weight of His upper body on Dave's chest.

His lips ran along Dave's nipple and he couldn't stop himself from shivering, the irritation between his legs returning. Kurt giggled at his soft movements then sat up and reached out, grabbing one of the dozens of colorful bottles of shampoos and soaps He had purched along the tub and squeezing a thick, blue liquid onto his palm, dropping His hand underwater. Dave couldn't see what He was doing, partially the bubbles and partially just the angle, but he assumed Master was slicking himself because a few moments later there was a soapy finger sliding along his crack. The slightest tip of Master's finger went in his hole for an instant then He pulled it back out, making a face. Master didn't like putting His hands up there.

Master Kurt shifted around for a moment then leaned forward and whispered, "Close your eyes."

Dave obeyed immediately, though he wished he could have the pleasure of watching his Master. But perhaps his Master did not want to have to look at his eyes tonight. When his Master had been badly crushing on Finn Hudson, he'd put a washcloth over Dave's face more than once while He mounted him. Dave didn't mind—whatever made it pleasurable for Master was pleasurable for him—but he did love to watch the adorable little faces Master made as He used him.

Something larger than a finger pressed against his crack and Dave did his best to relax his buttocks and keep his thighs as spread as possible as Master pushed in. The head of Master's cock felt large and foreign, but Dave did as he had been taught and let all his muscles relax with a whoosh of air, loosening himself as much as he could to make it comfortable for Master Kurt.

The pressure became rather intense as the head began to press all the way in, his hole naturally tight, like any muscle. It was a strange feeling, somewhere between a ripping and a burning, but Dave didn't make a sound, focusing entirely on breathing steadily.

Master Kurt made a sharp thrust and Dave clenched his teeth, being careful to keep his tongue pulled back in his mouth where he wouldn't nip it. Master's cock went in a little further and Dave knew just from experience with his Master's timing versus his size that he was probably only about an inch in, though it felt immensely larger. For some reason it always felt so, so much larger.

The burning had intensified, but it was nowhere near unbearable, and Dave just pushed it from his mind and let himself go to his training place.

Master's breath was coming in soft pants, hips thrusting firmly but not yet with the aggression of approaching orgasm. He couldn't open his eyes to see Him, but he could tell from the heavy pressure on his chest that Master was using his elbows to hold Himself up. Being on His knees a few inches lower than his slave meant that He would be thrusting at a slight upward angle, so Dave adjusted his hips as much as he could to make it easier, eliciting a grunt of pleasure from Master.

Dave allowed himself a tiny smile of pleasure at the sound then quickly wiped it from his face, hoping his Master hadn't seen it. He didn't want Him to think that Dave was anything but focused on *His* pleasure.

Master Kurt thrust again, sending Himself in another inch or so, feeling impossibly wide inside Dave. He took a deep breath. The muscles in his arms and chest were quivering in tension against the throbbing pressure. It wasn't an overwhelming pain, but it was steady, and built with every thrust. There was a pleasurable aspect to it, though, just in the sense of knowing his Master was in his body, using it for his pleasure. The thought once again encouraged his trapped cock to rise, so he shoved it from his mind.

Focus on Master, dammit! He was not Finn Hudson in a hot tub!

He began to rhythmically squeeze the muscles of his anus, making his Master moan with every contraction. Dave then began to subtly move his ass along with Master's thrusting hips as well, sending Him sliding deeper inside with each thrust then drawing Him in a tiny bit further with every squeeze.

There was a sudden increase of pressure on Dave's chest as Master Kurt dropped His light body on top of Dave's and His hips began to thrust madly. He was almost there…

Dave really, really wished he could open his eyes.

Master began to rub his chest against Dave's and Dave took this as permission to move his limply situated hands onto Master's body, running them up and down His back, dragging the nails of one hand along it, much too light to actually scratch, but hard enough to give a pleasant sensation he knew Master enjoyed. He used the other hand then to begin massaging at one of Master Kurt's buttocks, squeezing and kneading it, once again too gently to bruise, but hard enough to give exquisite sensation.

Master Kurt let out a moan, His movements becoming jerky and desperate as He began to scratch at Dave's chest. Dave bit back a hiss of pain as Master's nails dug deeply into one of his new welts, forcing it down so as not to distract Master from His pleasure.

The friction of Master's chest against his made Dave want to moan, made him want to thrust his own hips, despite his useless cock. It was like some primal instinct trying to overcome him, but he swallowed it all down, forcing himself to lay still, eyes obediently shut as Kurt's cock, feeling so much larger than it actually was, thrust in and out, in and out, faster and faster, the power growing with each shove.

Finally, after what was either forever or a split second, Master Kurt cried out loudly, collapsing heavily onto His slave's chest, His hair getting in Dave's mouth, tasting sweaty and soapy.

Both of them lay there for a long moment, breathing hard, the water suddenly seeming way too hot as sweat dripped from Master Kurt's face onto Dave's neck. Dave forced himself to take long, calming breaths, the feeling of Master Kurt's slowly softening cock still deep inside him making the frustration between his legs seem unbearable.

But it wasn't. Master had His pleasure and that was what mattered.

Master Kurt let out a satisfied sigh as His arms wrapped themselves around Dave, His cock beginning to slip out as He basked in the afterglow. Finally the weight on Dave's chest lightened and the water splashed around him as Master moved away.

Dave remained silent, lifting a finger to his lips, unsure if Master would want him to speak yet or not. He received no response and so let the finger slip away, eyes still closed.

When he heard the sound of an opening soap bottle Dave thought his Master had likely forgotten He'd ordered him to close his eyes, but he kept them obediently shut anyway. It wouldn't hurt to keep true to Master's orders and, if He hadn't forgotten, then Dave wouldn't risk ruining the moment with disobedience.

"Oh, God, that was so good," Master said and Dave took the words as permission to speak.

"Master, are you finished with me?"

"Hm? Oh, yes, you can sit up now, pet, I'm sorry." He laughed. "You distracted Me!"

Dave obeyed, drawing his legs down into the water and sitting up slowly. The burning in his ass was still there, but not too bothersome. Dave slipped a little when his hand missed the side of the tub, sliding down into to the water with a short laugh. "Master, may I open my eyes?"

"Huh? Oh, yes! You didn't have to keep your eyes shut!" Master Kurt said, and Dave could practically heat Him shaking His head. "I swear, you can be so literal!"

Dave opened his eyes to a bright smile and returned it with one of his own. "I was trained to follow orders literally, Master."

"Oh, I know you were." He moved suddenly across the tub, coming to sit between Dave's legs. "And how about you literally wrap me up in those big arms of yours."

Dave ducked his head, smiling, and obeyed, pulling his Master close to his chest. "Thank you, Master, for letting me serve you," he murmured, pressing his lips to Master Kurt's ear.

Master giggled. "The pleasure was mine, pet. You are such a good boy, you know that? I can't possibly imagine a slave better than you."

A warm feeling filled Dave's chest. "Thank you, Master."

"Sam is lucky he'll have you to help him."

Dave hadn't realized you could go from warm to cold that fast. He swallowed hard, mouth suddenly dry. The pain in his ass was nothing to the feeling shooting through his heart. "Th-thank you, Master," he said, voice small.

Master Kurt frowned, looking a little concerned, then seemed to shrug it off, turning His head to give Dave a quick kiss on the lips and Dave had to blink back tears.

He was really going to miss his Master. He was just so damn beautiful.


	6. Ch 6: Slave in Shining Armor

**Wanna read on LJ instead of evil ffnet? Find it at pucktheperv [dot] livejournal [dot] com [slash] tag [slash] bornthisslave  
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**Summary:**Everything is going well for Glee Club until a drop in the economy leaves one of their own in a desperate situation. The bank is foreclosing on Sam and he is about to be sent into a world of legal slavery - a trade that is entirely foreign to everyone except the highest of society. The situation seems helpless until Kurt comes forward with a secret that may save Sam's life-but it may also lose Kurt his friends when they find out that one of their own is, in fact, a slavemaster.

o o o

**Chapter 6: Slave in Shining Armor**

o o o

Kurt shut his locker with a gentle bang, if that wasn't too much of an oxymoron. It sounded more elegant than 'slammed it as hard as he could without breaking a nail,' did, anyway. Today had been hell, but he was Kurt Hummel and, dressed in Prada trousers and lace gloves, he would march to French class with his head held high, damn the whispered bullshit he could smell a'blowin' on the wind.

"Hey, look, it's Kurt Hitler! Heil mein Fuhrer!"

Kurt clenched his fists, trying to keep from screaming at the small minded bastards. God, it was only third period and he was already so sick of this crap that he was ready to strangle someone with a bow-tie.

Comparing him to Hitler! As if he would *ever* trim his facial hair like that!

From the moment Kurt had pulled into the parking lot that morning, he and his pet had been caught up in an endless whirlwind of McKinley High insanity. Their bags weren't even out of the car yet and the hockey team was throwing glitter at Dave while the members of SAS were tossed eggs at Kurt's head! While the glitter hadn't seemed to bother Kurt's slave, apparently throwing eggs at its Master was a no-no, because Dave had leapt into a roaring rage of jock fury.

Thank God that Kurt'd had the foresight to hook a chain to Dave's collar and latch it to the SUV before they'd left for school that morning, otherwise Suzie Pepper would probably be dead. Before the first egg had even finished dripping off his face, Kurt's slave had been down on all fours in the dirt, running to the end of its leash over and over again as it screamed at Suzie that it was going to shove eggs down her throat until that new esophagus of hers popped. Apparently this was reminder enough for the lynching mob that, slave of the sparkly gay kid or not, it was still Dave Karofsky that they were messing with, because it had dispersed *very* quickly after that, one of the puckheads actually jumping into a Dumpster to hide from Dave's sparkly rage.

Nobody really wanted their obituary to read that they'd been murdered with raw eggs and glitter.

Thankfully Kurt, having had plenty of experience with the sorts of things teens would throw at you with half an excuse, had brought several changes of clothing with him that morning. So, despite the eggs to the face and the spoiled vegan steaks that someone wearing a ski mask had stuffed in his pants, he was still managing to add a large dollop of fabulous to the MHS halls. But from the evil looks people were shooting him, you would have thought he was wearing white after labor day.

Hopefully Dave was having an easier time, though Kurt seriously doubted it. Angry liberals were bad enough, but Dave would have to deal with all of its meathead friends. These were the guys who put dog poop in each others lockers on a *good* day. The fact was, jocks didn't tend to be the intrinsically empathetic and understanding type. In fact, Kurt was pretty sure they were mostly shelved somewhere between 'Asshole' and 'Fuckwit,' with a few volumes tucked away under 'Penis For Brains.' Which sucked, because Dave really didn't deserve to be treated badly for being the slave of the resident queer kid. It had no say over who its Master was, after all. Hence the title of 'slave.'

Eggings and crude remarks aside, the worst part of the day had definitely been bio lab. Mercedes was always his lab partner, but today she'd somehow gotten there twenty-minutes early and had stuck a Cheerio's megaphone on the seat next to her, claiming she was saving it for Santana. If Mercedes was willing to risk partnering up on an experiment involving the use of scalpels with Santana Lopez just to have an excuse not to sit with Kurt, then they were *really* on the outs. Hell, that was risking your *life.* So, instead of spending the period using the Scientific Method to debate the best flavor of Lipsmackers, Kurt had actually been forced to touch a dead frog. Okay, he had really only jabbed at it with a three foot pole, but even being within a yard of a deceased amphibian was way too close for comfort.

"Hey, there's Hummel! I heard he whips Karofsky every time he farts!"

"Wow, he must whip him a lot! Karofsky's got *serious* gas."

Kurt took a steadying breath, forcing himself to hold his head high like the queen of the world that he was. Let the tasteless idiots say what they wanted, the nosy bastards. Kurt was better than that.

And, seriously, when were people going to figure out that the farts were faked? Nobody could *actually* fart the Star Spangled Banner. He hoped.

"Oh look, it's Kurt Hummel!" Kurt grimaced at the sound of Jacob's nasally voice, stumbling back a little as a tape recorder was shoved in his face. "Inquiring bloggers want to know: Is it true that you make Karofsky give you lap dances in a tutu?"

Fucking Jacob Ben Israel. Kurt gave him a superior look and pushed past him, continuing down the hall. "Get lost, cotton ball."

Jacob's eyebrows shot up, mouth dropping open in feigned shock as he followed Kurt. God, it was like being stalked by Moses' paparazzi. "Is that an affirmation?"

Kurt whirled around on his Gucci glad heel, slapping a hand against the lockers in annoyance. "No, that is not an affirmation! Do you really think any store in this town sells a tutu big enough to fit Dave Karofsky? Why don't you tell your nosy readers that if they want to know about my private life, they should grow some balls and ask me themselves!"

A wicked grin spread across Jacob's face. "Funny that you mentioned balls… Does Karofsky actually *have* any or did you take him to the nail shop and have them snipped off while you got a French manicure?"

Kurt's face reddened, little beads of sweat beginning to gather on his forehead. Oh, God, he was sweating. Cultured fashionistas did *not* sweat! Damn Jacob Ben Israel for making him sweat!

Kurt opened his mouth to tell the loser just what was going to happen to *his* balls if he didn't get lost, but his diva moment was destroyed when Mercedes appeared out of pretty much nowhere, stepping between Kurt and Jacob with the air of Diana on a hunt about her.

Kurt had to admit, the girl was Goddess material.

"Why don't you go jerk off elsewhere, Jacob? This conversation is ladies *only*."

Jacob raised an eyebrow. "Oh, so *Kurt's* the one whose balls have been snipped off?"

Mercedes made a disgusted sound. "Seriously, Jacob, get your ass out of town before I go to town on your ass! Maybe just give you a second Bris?" She emphasized the threat with a sharp nail jabbed in the direction of his crotch, and apparently the threat of a second circumcision was enough to make even Jacob Ben Israel run, because a moment later the Jew Fro had disappeared around the corner and Kurt was safe from his prophecies of social suicide once more.

Kurt eyed Mercedes warily, not really sure what was going. Was that nail going to be aiming for *him* next?

"You need to come with me."

Mercedes' hand latched suddenly onto Kurt's arm and he let out a small cry as she began to drag him down the hall. This was rather terrifying. Where were they *going*? Hopefully not to the nail shop his have his balls snipped. Kurt grimaced at the image. God, he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to go get a manicure again.

"Mercedes… where are we going?" he asked, just a little bit hysterically, as she continued to pull him along. Maybe he should yell 'rape!' or something?

"To the ladies only place," Mercedes said shortly, coming to a stop in front of the girls' bathroom, finally releasing his wrist. Kurt grimaced, rubbing at the now aching skin. That had kind of hurt. He was pretty sure she had bruised bone. He wasn't going to be able to wear more than twelve bracelets at once for a week!

"I want to talk to you in private."

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "I don't know how private this is, Mercedes. I heard that Puck drilled a peep hole."

She let out an irritated sigh and pushed the door open. "Kurt. Just come on." It swing shut behind her, unfortunately *not* hitting her on the ass. She deserved a smack on the ass for bruising what he considered to be quite a lovely wrist.

Kurt stared at the door for long moment then shrugged, pushing through it. It wasn't like this was his first time in the girls' bathroom. The McKinley boys didn't really like it when he used theirs.

Just as he entered the restroom, a terrified girl rushed out, and Kurt wondered idly if Mercedes had just told everybody about the peephole. Kurt leaned against one of the stalls with a sigh, turning his attention to Mercedes, who was perched on the edge of the sink looking serious.

"So… you want to tell me why you just dragged me to the little girls' room?"

"Okay, Kurt, let's just get down to business here," Mercedes said shortly and Kurt resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Wasn't that what he had been trying to do? Apparently there was a script and he had damn well better follow it.

But hey, that was fine with him. The less time he was alone in a bathroom with a diva-in-a-tiff, the better. He knew from his own flashes of diva-attack that you could trash a bathroom astonishingly quickly with nothing but a flat iron, a bottle of hairspray, and three tubes of lipstick. Dave hadn't gotten its teeth clean for *days.*

"You're my best friend, Kurt. And I don't want us to be angry at each other, okay? Even though what you're doing is totally wrong."

Kurt held back a sigh. Great. Another lecture. "I am not getting rid of Dave, Mercedes," he said flatly, more than a little irritated, but she held up her hand and he fell silent, crossing his arms petulantly and pursing his lips. Two could play the diva card.

"I've been thinking about it, okay, and I realized something. You're a victim of all this too. Okay, well, not quite as much of a victim as poor Karofsky—wow, 'poor Karofsky' just sounds so weird…"

"You shouldn't call it Karofsky," Kurt said shortly. "That's its trainer's name, Mercedes, not its own. We just put it down as a last name so we wouldn't have to use 'Hummel.' Slaves don't *have* last names. Slaves don't even literally have first names!"

An irritated look passed over Mercedes' face but she managed to wipe it away, though it obviously took some effort. "Fine. Whatever. My point is, you've been brainwashed, too. I know you must have, because you're a really awesome person, Kurt. I know you would never purposely want to hurt anyone. Unless they were wearing polka dots with plaid."

"I must admit that I also have a pathological hatred for animal print sweaters outside of the Christmas season."

Mercedes grimaced. "Hey, totally with you there. But I wanted you to know that, even though I will never, ever approve of you being a slavemaster, you're still my friend. And, because you're my friend, what I need to do is to help you come to understand that all the things you've been taught about slavery are 100% wrong. But what I am *not* going to do is blame you for falling into the trap that they set up for you." She put a hand dramatically to her chest. "Now, ignorance is *not* an excuse, but it makes it understandable, at least. And I know you don't bring people over to the right path by being hateful toward them."

Kurt wasn't sure whether to be flattered or pissed off. On the one hand, he felt like crying with relief—Mercedes wasn't going to abandon him! She still wanted to be his friend! He wasn't going to be all alone! On the other hand, she was only staying his friend because she had plans to change him. She cared about him, but didn't accept who he was and thought there was something wrong with him that she needed to fix.

Talk about a gut wrenching conundrum. It kind of reminded him of the day when his fifth grade teacher had informed him that, even though his sexuality made him a sinner and that he was committing a crime in God's eyes for being gay, she still cared about him. You know, since that's what Christ would do. He'd only been 8 years old, for God's sake!

Fucking Christians. They were right up there with liberationists on what he called his 'Self-Righteous Bull Shit List'.

Kurt let out a loud sigh, rubbing his forehead tiredly. Mercedes was just trying to do what she thought was right. Like she said, ignorance wasn't an excuse—but it *did* make it more understandable. She was just… ignorant when it came to slavery. "I… appreciate that, Mercedes." A big smile spread across her face, but he held up a hand before she could leap up and hug him. "But I hope that *you'll* keep an open mind, too, okay? That way maybe we can both learn some things from each other?"

Mercedes raised an eyebrow, shooting him a doubtful look. "Okay, Kurt," she said, not sounding like she really meant it. "Maybe we can. And maybe we'll both come out of this as better people." She moved toward him, wrapping him in a big hug.

Kurt's heart warmed a little. It felt nice to hug Mercedes again. Even though they'd only been on the outs for a day, for some reason it seemed like forever.

"I am so glad you're seeing this my way, Kurt! I'll see you after school, okay? We have some elite mall shopping to do, girlfriend!"

Mercedes gave him one last grin as she picked up her bag and Kurt watched silently as she bounced out of the bathroom, obviously ecstatic at the thought of a new convert to preach to, certain in her belief that he would 'see it all her way.'

Too bad that was a bunch of bull.

Kurt swallowed hard, the warmth in his chest slowly giving way to the nerves in his gut. He loved Mercedes so much. It would kill him to lose that girl! But eventually, he would. This was a nice compromise, but it wouldn't last forever. Eventually Mercedes would come to the realization that Kurt's views on slavery weren't going to change. And then she'd be on her way. The Kurtcedes Show would be over for good. But it would be okay, right? Yeah. It would totally be okay. Totally. He could take care of himself. He didn't need Mercedes to be happy.

Besides, even if worst came to worst, he'd never be truly alone. And *that* was why he knew Mercedes' little conversion project would never, ever work. Because Kurt counted on one thing in his life, more than he would ever admit.

He counted on the fact that he would always have his slave in shining armor to protect him.

o o o

**Six Years Ago**

Kurt made a frustrated sound as he turned the corner and found yet another empty hallway, kicking at the expensive Oriental rug in annoyance. Dear Lord, how many rooms could a single house have? He was starving and this was really just *absurd*. At least when he'd come with his mom they'd always had a great time. There were a ton of fun things to do at his grandparents' estate, and he and his mom had done them all. They had gone swimming with the ducks in the pond by the woods, ridden horses through the pastures at sunset, and taken picnics in the forest. They'd had *fabulous* tea-parties in extravagant rooms, and carved pumpkins at Halloween, and picked berries in the gardens.

Now... well, the tea parties were still fabulous in the most literal sense—what wasn't fabulous in this amazing mansion of a house?—but they just weren't the same. His dolls didn't seem to smile as much and Grandma Annabeth was way more of a stick in the mud when it came to how many sugar lumps he put in his cup than his mom had been.

Man, he really missed his mom.

Kurt sniffled a little, then pointedly pushed his blue thoughts away, hugging Elizabeth the Second to his chest. He loved her lots, but not anywhere near as much as he'd loved the first Elizabeth. His mom had been the bestest person in the whole, wide world.

His stomach growled and Kurt frowned. This place was a maze. He'd been wandering around for an hour without seeing a single soul. Considering that, on top of his grandparents living there, there were at least forty or fifty slaves that lived on the estate, it was pretty crazy to have seen no one. Of course, this place was kind of magic in that way. There always seemed to be slaves there when your cup needed filling or you wanted somebody to bring you some muffins, but otherwise you never even saw them. Seriously, it had to be magic.

Kurt wondered idly if there was maybe some kind of 'Beauty and the Beast' charm on the house. His Grandad did have a big beard and, though he hadn't seen any singing candle holders, the old slavewoman who ran the kitchens kinda sounded like Mrs. Potts.

His stomach growled again and he let out a sigh. He was pretty sure he had missed lunch by now. Maybe, if he missed afternoon tea as well, his Grandma would send out a search party. Of course, with a house this big, that would kinda be like sending a search party into Antarctica.

Kurt turned another corner, then came to a quick halt when the hallway ended abruptly, an enormous set of gilded doors looming before him. This wasn't good. He wasn't even sure he was tall enough to reach the handles, much less actually get those huge things open! Kurt was really small, even for a ten year old, and those doors looked heavy.

Another roar of his stomach convinced him to try and he tucked Elizabeth the Second carefully under his arm, reaching up to pull at the handles. He gritted his teeth with the effort, tugging and tugging and tugging… one inch… two inches… just a little harder and—

Kurt let out a loud cry as Elizabeth the Second slipped out from beneath his arm, falling toward the floor. She seemed to hang for a moment, suspended in the air, but he couldn't quite get his hands around her, then she dropped to the hard stone with a loud crack.

Kurt fell to his knees beside her, tears coming to his eyes as he looked at the smashed porcelain of her little face. Elizabeth the Second had been his mom's doll when she was little. When his mother had died, Grandma Annabeth had given her to him so that he would have someone to have tea parties and pick berries with. So that he wouldn't be alone.

Kurt began to cry, his shoulders shaking. Elizabeth the Second was gone, just like his mom. Why, why, why did this always happen to him? Why did these things—

A soft banging sound cut off his thoughts and Kurt sat up abruptly, looking around with wide eyes, a hand to his chest. What in the world had that been? Was this place haunted? Oh my God, was it Elizabeth the Second's ghost?

The sound came again and Kurt's head jerked in its direction, eyes widening when he realized that it was coming from *inside the wall!*

He took a slow breath, glancing down at Elizabeth the Second's fallen form, then looked back up, licking his lips nervously. "H-hello?" he called out with a shaking voice, really wishing he had a crucifix on him. Surely Elizabeth the Second wasn't angry with him? He hadn't meant to hurt her!

There was a soft clicking noise and, a few feet down, an enormous painting of a lake at sunset began to pull away from the wall with a creaking noise. Kurt let out a shriek, tumbling back. What was going on?

A few moments later the head of a young boy peeked around the edge of the painting, his eyes widening when they landed on Kurt.

Kurt blinked. He was pretty sure *that* wasn't the ghost of Elizabeth the Second. It really didn't look much like a ghost at all. It definitely wasn't howling and there were no rattling chains or squirting blood or anything like that.

Kurt frowned and pushed himself up off the floor, taking a step toward the painting. The boy's head disappeared behind it and the frame began to move back toward the wall. Kurt's eyes widened. It wasn't a painting at all! It was a secret door! Had he caught a burglar?

"Wait!" Kurt called out when it became obvious that the boy planned to retreat back into the wall. Strangeness aside, Kurt did *not* want to be alone again, lost in this ginormous house. Especially now that Elizabeth the Second was gone.

The painting paused and then slowly began to move outward again. After a moment a young boy stepped from behind it, immediately dropping his gaze when Kurt tried to meet his eyes.

He looked awfully young for a burglar, but he was really tall and wide. And Aladdin had been a kid, right? One jump ahead of the bread line, one swing ahead of the sword?

"Wh-what were you doing in there?" Kurt questioned, a little nervous, when the boy didn't say anything, voice shaking a little as he reached up to wipe at the tears that were still on his cheeks.

The boy hesitated, then shut the painting quickly behind him and stepped forward, dropping smoothly to his knees in front of Kurt.

"Hello, Sir. I was fixing a light in the slave passages, Sir. I… I heard you crying, Sir."

Ah, so the boy wasn't Aladdin. He wasn't a 'he' at all. It was a slave. Kurt blinked realizing he should have known that from the way it was dressed in simple black shorts and nothing else, the common attire of a male slave working in its Master's house. Slaves were usually only given more clothes when they were taken out around commoners, sent into icky weather, or when doing work that might hurt them.

The slave was a big boy, much bigger than Kurt and, with its big shoulders and round face you might almost call it chubby. It really wasn't though, because you could see the defined muscles in its arms. Besides, slaves were fed a healthy, balanced diet (if somewhat bland looking, in Kurt's opinion) and did lots of hard work. There really weren't any overweight slaves.

It was definitely one of the younger slave's at Kurt's grandparents' manor, however. Probably not even any older than Kurt. Probably just out of training.

"Hello," Kurt said, moving closer and squatting down next to the boy. It didn't move, just knelt there, hands clasped behind its back, shoulders straight, eyes lowered respectfully. "What are you called?"

"I am called slave David, Sir. Of trainer Karofsky, Sir." The slave tilted its head up slightly, meeting Kurt's gaze. Its eyes were a warm, deep brown color. Like chocolate cookie dough. Just like Elizabeth the Second's had been. Before he'd cracked them, anyway.

Kurt sniffed a little at the thought, tears welling up in his eyes again.

"Sir… may… may this slave ask what is wrong, Sir?" The boy's voice was small, and nervous, but it looked like it was genuinely worried.

Kurt licked his lips nervously. Even though he had spent a lot of time at his grandparents' estate, talking to slaves made him a little nervous. His Grandma said they weren't people so you didn't have to worry if you said something wrong, but Kurt thought they talked kind of funny, like how this one said 'this slave' instead of just saying 'I'. Once you got to know them, they didn't do that so much—the nice slave women in the kitchens were very friendly with Kurt and they talked a lot to him—but it was a little weird sometimes. He just wasn't all that used to being around slaves.

It wasn't as if slaves were an oddity or anything like that. Even in the middle class town where Kurt lived most of the time, you sometimes what they called "corporate slaves" who were owned by big companies like WalMart and McDonalds, doing everyday jobs like waiting on tables and working in stores so that the companies wouldn't have to pay a freeman for his work. But you didn't see all that many "privately owned slaves," the ones that belonged to the rich families that made up the elite class of society. Both kinds of slaves were trained not to stand out around the common people, though, so even when Kurt saw corporate slaves at stores or private slaves at the movies with their elite masters, they didn't act like they did at the manor house.

Though most of the common people just ignored slavery, thinking of it as another oddity of the snobbish upper class society, the very liberal commoners were on a big liberation kick, saying that slaves were people and it was unethical for the elite to keep them. The very *conservative* commoners were on an anti-corporate slavery campaign, claiming that slavery took paying jobs away from hardworking American citizens. With these two groups fighting them, the last thing slave owners wanted was to turn the majority against them, too, so all slaves were trained to seem more like, say, an assistant or a maid, than a slave when they were out around the middle class. Just so they wouldn't freak out commoners and make them feel uncomfortable about slavery, which might lead to votes against it at the polls. In private, though, Kurt knew that both corporate and private slaves were equally submissive and, in his opinion, acted kind of weird.

He had told some of the slaves that before, but Grandma Annabeth had scolded him, saying that slaves were simple but loyal and the things he thought were weird were actually good, obedient traits that deserved praise, not insult. To tell a slave who was being a good boy and acting on its training that it was weird was a cruel thing to do. Slaves weren't people but they were very important to a household and should be praised for their loyalty and obedience.

This one's kneeling and 'sir'ing made him feel a bit odd, though.

"Sir? Are you okay?"

Kurt sniffled and rubbed at his eyes, another tear rolling down his cheek. "I-I broke my doll. Her name was Elizabeth the Second."

He tensed a little, ready for the boy to tease him about playing with dolls like most boys did, but it just looked up with worried eyes.

"I'm sorry, Sir… May the slave look at it, Sir? Maybe… maybe I can fix it?"

Kurt looked at it hopefully. "You think you could?"

It bit its lip, looking uncomfortable. "I don't know, Sir. I'm good at fixing things. I would have to see it though, Sir."

Kurt took a deep breath then moved back over to his doll, sniffling as he carefully picked her up and brought her back over to the slave, holding her out.

"May I rise?"

Kurt nodded and the slave did just that, reaching out to take Elizabeth the Second.

"Careful," he breathed as the boy took her from his hands, inspecting her gently.

"I'm sorry, Sir… I don't think I can fix it, Sir. But maybe with some glue and some paint it wouldn't look too bad?" It lowered its eyes respectfully, offering the doll back to Kurt. "I'm sorry about Elizabeth the Second."

Kurt took her back, holding her tight to her chest. "It's okay," he said sadly. "I'm gonna miss her."

"I really am sorry I can't fix her, Sir. Do you want me to report to my handler for discipline?"

Kurt shook his head rapidly. "No, no. I… I knew she couldn't be fixed. Her face is all smashed in. I guess I just hoped…" He frowned. "Where did you come from anyway? What were you doing?"

"I was repairing a light in the slave passage, Sir. It shorted out."

Kurt's eyebrows shot up, his mouth dropping open. "The slave passage? Is that what that is?" He nodded toward the hinged painting. "It looks like a secret passageway!" He gave a short laugh. "I feel like I'm in a game of Clue."

The boy blinked, looking uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, I don't know of any clues, Sir. Slave passages are normal in the homes of the elite. They allow the slaves to travel around the manor without disturbing our masters or ruining the look of the house, Sir."

"Seriously? Whoa, that, like, explains *so* much." No wonder he'd managed to wander around this house for hours without running into any slaves. "Actually, I'm really glad you found me. I am so totally lost, its unbelievable." He looked sadly down at his doll. "And poor Elizabeth the Second had to suffer for it." Kurt hugged her again and looked back up. "I'm pretty sure I've been walking around forever. This house is *enormous.*" He pouted a little. "And I missed lunch."

"Would you like me to take you to the kitchens, Sir?" the boy questioned. "Mawmaw—I mean, Miss slave Marian would be glad to fix you something to eat, Sir."

Oh, that sounded *fabulous.* Kurt moved forward suddenly, reaching out to hug the slave around the neck with his free arm, Elizabeth the Second still clutched in the other. "Oh, slave David, you're my savior! My knight in shining armor!" He paused. "Or my slave in shining armor. Whatever."

The boy just stood there, Kurt's arm around its neck, hands hovering in the air on either side of Kurt like it didn't know what to do with them. It was amazing how meek it managed to come off considering that it was, like, five or six inches taller than Kurt and waaaay wider.

Noting the almost frightened look on its face, Kurt took pity on it and pulled away, patting it on the chest. "I would really appreciate it if you'd show me the way, slave David."

The boy gave him a small smile. "If you would follow me, Sir?" It turned in the direction of the gilded doors, but Kurt grabbed its arm, tugging it back.

"Wait, take me through the walls! I wanna go through the walls!"

Slave David paused, turning slowly, a nervous look on its face. "I… I don't know if it's appropriate to take a Sir through the slaveways, Sir."

Kurt shook his head, giving it a little smile. "Oh, don't be silly. I know Grandpa can have a stick up his butt sometimes, but I wanna see it! My dad's a common laborer, you know." His voice held a hint of pride. His dad was awesome, commoner or not. "Besides, it can't be any worse than my school's hallways. I swear the janitor mops with mud!"

The boy's tongue flickered out nervously and it dropped its eyes. "I… Okay. I mean, whatever you like, Sir. I live for Sir's pleasure."

"Great! You're such a good boy," he added onto the end, knowing that praise pleased slaves. This was a good thing. The adventure would help keep his mind off of poor Elizabeth the Second, at least.

A small smile appeared on the slave's face and it moved over to the painting, sliding its fingers beneath the frame. There was a soft clicking noise and it popped open.

Kurt gave a little gasp of delight. This was like being in a movie!

The boy gestured for Kurt to climb into the portal and he did so awkwardly. He almost fell but slave David caught his arm, supporting him. Kurt gave it a smile. Slave in shining armor indeed. Did that mean he was a Disney princess? He had always wanted to be a Disney princess.

The boy climbed in after him and pulled the painting shut behind them. The back of the painting was a thick rectangle of unfinished wood with a small brass knob fitted into it.

Kurt glanced around, eyes quickly adjusting to the dim light. It was really more of a tunnel than a hall, with stone walls and thick wood beams. Every few feet or so a naked bulb shone down, providing what low light there was.

The closest bulb wasn't lit and there was an open toolbox and a small step ladder beneath it. Slave David started in the other direction, however, and Kurt frowned.

"Don't you need to finish fixing that?"

The boy paused, the lightbulb above it casting a strange orange tint on its skin. Its skin looked a little funny in places and Kurt wondered if there was dirt on it. He hoped not considering that he had just given it a hug.

"Sir, I will finish it later, Sir. Sir, service to Sir comes first. Sir."

Kurt snickered a little. Sorry Grandma, but that was a little *too* weird. "Do you, like, have a minimum amount of times you have to say 'Sir' in a sentence or something?"

Kurt felt a little guilty as the slave's cheeks reddened and it dropped its head, a worried look on his face. He shouldn't have said anything. His Grandma was right. It was mean of him.

"I… I am sorry if I am talking to you wrong, Sir. I am new to the house and this is my first real master. I finished training this year, Sir. I should have asked you what you wanna be called—I mean…" it paused, furrowing its brow like it was trying to remember something, "I mean how you want to be *addressed*, Sir."

Kurt was surprised. From the big, stocky look of the boy he'd assumed it was a stable lad or something, but it had obviously been trained to talk fancy to its masters, so it was probably trained in personal pleasure service. Kurt wasn't entirely sure what personal pleasure service was, but he knew that prize slaves were trained in it and, while they never had a *huge* vocabulary since *nobody* wanted a slave that talked fancier than they did, they knew prissier sounding words than slaves just trained for hard labor. This boy must have cost a lot of money. He wondered why Grandpa had bought it.

"You can just call me 'Kurt'," Kurt informed him with a shrug. "I don't really care, and that's what my friends call me, so my slave in shining armor might as well call me that, too. It's just weird to be called 'Sir' since I'm only ten and all. Where I come from, you only call adults 'Sir,' you know?"

The boy smiled, looking pleased that Kurt had granted it permission to use his name.

"Thank you, Master Kurt," the boy said, still smiling.

Master Kurt. Okay, that would work. Respectful, and way better than all those 'Sirs.'

"You can follow me—I mean, may this slave have the pleasure of showing you to the kitchen?" Yup, it had definitely been trained in proper speech etiquette. It probably hadn't been training in it long since it seemed to have to think about it, but for some reason Kurt just had a feeling that this boy was quick and would probably catch on to anything fast.

"Yes, slave David. Or slave Dave. I like that. It's got a catchy sound to it, 'slave Dave.' You mind if I call you slave Dave? Slave Dave, my fav? Whose lost master it managed to save? So you know I gotta rave?"

From the look on the boy's face, it wasn't quite sure whether Kurt was serious or not. Which was fine 'cause Kurt wasn't quite sure, either.

"Um, slave Dave is fine, Master Kurt." It gave him another little smile. "You can call me whatever you wa—I mean… I will gladly answer to whatever it pleases you to call me. I mean, well, I don't *actually* have a name right now, anyway. Slave David is what the one who trained me, Master Karofsky, called me, but my new master hasn't told me what my name is yet. The handlers are still just calling me 'Slave.'" It bit its lower lip. "I'm registered as D120794 Point A Dash Karofsky 8."

Kurt gave a little laugh. "Wow, that's quite a mouthful! How does anyone remember that?"

Dave shyly tilted its head to the side, gently pushing the leather collar around its neck upward to reveal a small, dark tattoo. "My neck is marked. Well, the D120794.A is, anyway. It means I was the fourth slave registered on December 7th, 1994 and that I'm a Born-slave, so I was probably born on that day. The Karofsky 8 was added after my training was finished. I trained for eight years with Slavemaster Karofsky. His brand is on my butt, though." The boy winced. "I mean, I am branded on my left butt… ock?"

Kurt's eyes widened slightly at that. He hadn't realized slaves were marked like that. Of course, he guessed it was usually covered by their collars. But it had one on its butt, too? "You've got a tattoo on your butt?" he asked in disbelief.

Dave started to giggle, then obviously forced it down, trying to look serious. "Oh, no. The registration number is tattooed to be small. Trainers' marks are usually brands, especially the trainers that are really well know. It's, like, traditional?" It looked a little embarrassed. "Would you like to see, Master Kurt?"

Kurt's eyes widened. Would he like to see? Yeah, actually, he kind of would. "Um, sure?" It was aort of hard to imagine what a brand on a *person* would look like. Except Dave wasn't a person. It was a slave. That was tough to remember sometimes. They looked so much alike!

Dave turned its back to Kurt, and, with no fanfare whatsoever, slid its slave shorts off, letting them drop around its ankles. It then angled its body forward slightly so that its rear was sticking out, head bowing as it clasped its hands behind its back politely.

Kurt choked a little, clutching at Elizabeth the Second. He hadn't expected it to just drop its pants completely! Any embarrassment he was feeling, however, faded as he stared at the other boy's butt with interest, mouth forming a little 'o' at what he saw.

On the left cheek of his bottom was a section of white, raised scar tissue. It was about two inches wide and three or for inches tall, just a bunch of thin, swirly lines that sort of formed what Kurt thought might be a 'K'. The extreme whiteness of the scars stood out strikingly considering that the rest of the boy's bottom was covered in red marks, one of which was distinctly a hand print.

"That… that's… wow. Huh." Kurt looked away, blushing a little. "You can, uh, put your shorts back on now."

"Thank you, Master," it murmured politely, reaching down and tugging the spandex back up its legs to cover itself.

"Did you, uh, get in trouble or something?"

Dave looked at him curiously, meeting his eyes for a moment before dropping them submissively, everything about its posture painfully polite.

"I am sorry, Master Kurt but I don't get the—I mean, but the *slave* doesn't understand the question. Did you want to know when I was last disciplined?"

Kurt frowned. "I was just wondering if you got in trouble?"

It met his eyes again, looking confused. "I'm really sorry, Master Kurt, but if you could ask the question in a way my slave's mind could better understand, I would be really grateful."

Uh, okay? What was there not to understand about his question? They said slaves' minds were simple but this boy was definitely not stupid. Kurt could tell that just from how obedient and well trained it was, despite not being any older than Kurt.

"You have welts all over you. Did you get them because you were bad?"

"Oh. Oh!" Dave's body seemed to lose some of its tension and a smile was back on its face. "I'm sorry, Master Kurt, I didn't realize you were talking about my marks. No, those were dominance. Punishment would be much harsher than light marks. The lines on my back are from punishment, Master." It turned its upper body and Kurt's eyes widened. He had been so busy looking at the brand that he hadn't noticed the dozens of thin, white scars running across the boy's back. When it turned back around he realized that it had scars on its chest, too. Its skin was just so pale that they were hard to see, especially in the dim light. It hadn't been dirt he'd seen in the orangey cast of the light bulb earlier, it had been whip scars.

"It was dominance? What does that mean?"

"Dominance is a form of slave discipline, Master Kurt. But it's regular, expected. A reminder of your place, of the *lightest* thing a handler can do, so that slaves don't get out of control. Handlers usually have a Dominance Schedule. I am new so I will receive weekly marks until I have proved my obedience and earned my place here. Earned the handlers' trust, kind of." It smiled. "It's for a slave's own good. A slave's simple mind needs to be constantly reminded of its masters' power so it doesn't stray and cause masters the hardship of having to punish the slave."

Kurt frowned. That kinda sounded like this came from a textbook. Hell, for all he knew, it did.

"Having to punish a slave takes time and energy to decide on and give the punishment and it can also damage Master's property if the necessary punishment is so severe that it can't perform its services. To force a master to punish you is considered shameful—and, honestly, it's Master's disappointment that is the *real* punishment, anyway." It reached up, gently trailing a finger along one of the lines on its chest, looking upset. "Because the shame is the worst part. The shame of knowing that you were a bad slave and put your master in a position where they had to hurt you." It shook its head vigorously. "I don't understand slaves that misbehave at all."

Kurt stared at it, a little disbelievingly. "So you get hit even when you don't do anything?"

Dave frowned. "Yes, Master Kurt. But I'm grateful for it. Submitting to dominance helps you remember that Master doesn't even *need* a reason to strike you. It proves that you behave because you want Master to be *proud,* not because you fear physical punishment. After all, if you have no loyalty to your Master, only a fear of physical punishment, you're no better than an untrained First-gen. Why in the world would someone obey just because they were afraid they'd be hit? There are way worse things than pain, after all."

Kurt wasn't so sure. He was pretty certain that if his dad left scars on his body every time he did something bad, he'd be a very, very good boy. Or pretend to be and then sulk whenever he left the room, anyway. "I just don't understand—they hit you when you're good, they hit you when you're bad… what's the point?"

Dave shrugged. "The point is that you'll be struck either way, Master Kurt. You are my master. You could strike me now for no reason and I couldn't get mad at you or anything. Not that I would *want* to," it added quickly, "but you know what I mean. Pain's not a good punishment because there's not, like, a rule that says you only get hit if you do this, this, or this. Not for a slave. A master can hit a slave whenever he wants. It's his possession to do what he wants with. The *pain* is not why you want to avoid punishment—in fact, a slave should *want* to be hurt when they do something wrong, as a physical reminder of the hurt they caused their masters by misbehaving. Taking dominance is a way of proving your loyalty and obedience by honorably accepting even the hardships of your place, and taking punishment is a way of proving that you *want* to make up for what you have done and that you'll gladly take pain much worse than dominance to prove it." It shrugged again. "Slaves who do not gladly submit to both dominance and punishment are considered worthless, both by masters *and* other slaves."

Okay… Kurt supposed that made sense, maybe to someone who wasn't afraid of pain, anyway. The logic was very… foreign to him, but he guessed it worked for slaves' minds. Maybe their skin was tougher than a freeman's or something. "Um, okay. I guess I get it."

Dave flashed him a rather brilliant smile. "So do you want to go to the kitchens now, Master Kurt?"

Kurt's stomach growled loudly, causing the slave to giggle a little.

"Is that a yes, Master Kurt?"

Kurt laughed and nodded, following Dave down the hallway.

Kurt grimaced a little as they walked through the dimly lit passage. It kind of smelled like mildew and there were cobwebs everywhere. The floor alternated between bare stone and some kind of ratty carpet. Every once and awhile they would pass another unfinished wooden door that Kurt supposed opened up other paintings throughout the house.

They ducked around yet another turn, then Dave came to a sudden stop, almost sending Kurt crashing into it. It gave Kurt an embarrassed smile, stepping to the side, then dropped its eyes respectfully.

"Would Master like to put Elizabeth the Second in your room before we go to the kitchen, Sir?" It gestured to the door on the opposite wall. "This leads to your room."

Kurt's mouth dropped open. To his room? There was a secret passage to his room?

Apparently the look on his face gave his thoughts away because Dave gifted him with another one of its shy little smiles.

"That is how the slaves bring you your tea in the morning, Master Kurt, and change your sheets. Your, um, linens, I mean. Change your linens. The mirror in your closet opens, Master."

Kurt blinked. He should have realized that the hot tea he woke up to every morning didn't just appear from nowhere. He knew this wasn't *actually* the house from 'Beauty and the Beast', after all. But why wouldn't they just use the door?

Dave apparently understood the silent question—Kurt was starting to notice that it was *very* observant—and it smiled again. "It's a slave's duty to always be aware of the master's needs, but also to make sure you aren't noticed unless they call for you."

It took a few steps then stopped next to what looked like a piece of metal nailed to the wall. But when it grabbed the edge, it slid back and, suddenly, they were looking into Kurt's bedroom. "It's a two-way mirror. So that a slave can regularly check on you without disturbing you."

Okay, *that* was somewhat creepy. "Whoa, you mean someone is looking in on me all the time?" What about when he was naked?

"Not someone, Master Kurt. Only a slave."

Oh, well. In *that* case.

Kurt looked down at Elizabeth the Second. "Could you… could you put her on my bed? With my other dolls?"

Dave nodded, its face serious, and it took Elizabeth the Second from Kurt with a surprisingly gentle touch, handling her like she was a baby. "I will, Master Kurt." It moved quickly through the doorway and Kurt's eyes widened when he saw it appear from his closet, striding across the room and carefully setting Elizabeth the Second on the bed with Kurt's other dolls. It paused for a moment, glanced over at the two-way mirror, then leaned over and placed a soft kiss on Elizabeth the Second's forehead.

Kurt's heart warmed and he blinked back tears. Dave was a very good slave. He was Elizabeth the Second's slave in shining armor, too.

Dave disappeared back into the closet, coming through the passageway only a moment later, smiling at Kurt.

"The kitchens now, Master Kurt?"

Kurt nodded and they moved on through the shadowy hall. It was really kind of creepy in here. They went on for a few more turns, then started down a winding staircase. There were many metal plates along the walls and Kurt wondered just how often slaves were watching them through secret windows. How did this *not* freak his grandparents out?

Finally the boy came to a halt in front of a large, metal door, then used its big body to shove it open, revealing the kitchens.

Kurt raised an eyebrow, impressed. The boy was new and it had already memorized how to get around the house like that? Crazy. It was really kind of cool.

Kurt had never been this far back in the kitchens, only in the area up front that looked like some sort of country kitchen out of a magazine. Here, however, everything was industrial, with an enormous fridge, two stove tops, and a large table in the center of the room, above which hung every sort of pot and pan you could imagine.

"Who's there?" a feminine voice called out and a young slave woman with long, blonde hair tied back in a bun turned away from the pot it was stirring, eyes widening when it saw the two boys standing in front of the door.

"What the… have you gone *mad*?" Kurt jumped at the sharp sound of its voice. It moved suddenly across the room, grabbing a wooden spoon off the counter and using it to cuff Dave hard across the face. The boy hardly reacted to the strike, but Kurt cried out, jumping in front of Dave and shoving the slave woman's hand away.

"Leave him alone!"

Dave made a distressed sound and the woman took two steps back, gaping silently at Kurt.

"I… I… I am sorry, young Master." It looked pointedly over Kurt's shoulder at Dave and he glanced back, frowning at the slave boy's hunched shoulders and embarrassed face.

The kitchen slave shook her head, still looking shocked. "It is not considered… appropriate behavior for a slave to bring someone of your status down here, Master." Its face tightened as it glared at Dave. "It should have taken you to the front kitchen and served you, young Sir."

Kurt waved the words away, stepping back to stand next to Dave. "No, I told it I wanted to come through the walls."

Dave flinched slightly and Kurt shot it an odd look. Why did it look so worried?

"Through the… You brought the master through the *slaveway*, boy?" The woman sounded shocked and, from the look on Dave's face, Kurt was starting to think that, just maybe, making it take him through the walls had not been a good idea. Was it against the rules?

"Yes, Miss Sally. I took Master Kurt through the slaveway."

The woman's grip on the spoon tightened and Kurt got the feeling that him standing there was the *only* reason that spoon was not making contact with Dave's face again. "Your handler is not going to be pleased, slave."

Kurt winced at the disappointment in the slave woman's voice. Dave's whole body had hunched and it had dropped its head.

"It wasn't its fault," Kurt protested. "I said I wanted to. I mean, I *ordered* it to take me."

The Sally woman, or whatever it was called, turned to look at him, its face gentling. "And that is perfectly fine, Master Kurt. But the slave still knew it was doing wrong." It turned its attention back to Dave. "Didn't you, slave boy?"

"Yes, Miss Sally," it replied, raising its head. Its voice was quiet but steady. "I knew I was doing wrong. And I fully planned to report for punishment right after Master Kurt had been serviced to his satisfaction."

Report for punishment? Kurt's mouth dropped open. "What? Whoa, hold on! You were planning on getting in trouble for something I made you do?"

Dave smiled at him, looking much too calm in Kurt's opinion. He didn't care how tough-skinned a slave was, weren't little boys supposed to try and *avoid* getting in trouble? "You have every right to tell me what to do, Master Kurt—you didn't do anything wrong. But just because I did it to please you doesn't mean that I wasn't bad, disobeying the rules of the house. I look forward to my punishment. It will take the shame of it away."

"No," Kurt said flatly, images of his dad, like, using a bullwhip on him because he did something he was told to do flashing through his head. That was nutso! It didn't make sense! "I'm not gonna let you get punished for something you only did because you had to." He flashed Dave a reassuring smile but, instead of looking pleased, the boy's entire body tensed and its face went dark.

Sally let out a sigh, shaking its head in the boy's direction.

"Oh, look what you have done now, slave-child!" It put one hand on its hip, waving the spoon with its other. "You have gotten yourself into *real* trouble now! *I* am going to go start something for good Master Kurt to munch on. I suggest you use this time alone with him to plead your case!"

To plead its case?

"Yes, Miss Sally," Dave said, its voice very small.

The woman made a hmphing sound as it moved back over to the stove. Once it was out of earshot, Dave moved suddenly in front of Kurt, dropping to its knees in front of him and bowing its head so far forward that it looked painful.

"Please, Master Kurt, I know I have no right to question your decision, but will you please allow this slave one sentence to plead its case?"

Its voice sounded almost desperate. Kurt frowned, confused. This was so *weird.* He just wasn't used to interacting with slaves like this. What did it mean, that is wanted to plead its case? "Um, sure… Go ahead, slave Dave."

"Master, please don't deny me my discipline, because there is no worse punishment than being known as a bad slave who has escaped punishment."

Kurt rubbed at his face, forehead starting to hurt. He really didn't get this slave discipline thing. Discipline was *bad*, wasn't it? "Okay, let me see if I caught that… There's nothing worse than not being punished for something you didn't do?"

There was a long silence, then Dave slowly lifted its head until it was staring up at Kurt. "Master Kurt," it said quietly, eyes very serious. "I spent eight years learning to serve. A bad slave has no place in society. But no slave is perfect. Everyone will make mistakes. But *mistakes* don't make you a bad slave. Even occasional disobedience doesn't make you a bad slave—as long as you admit you were wrong and gladly accept the punishment. Punishment is a way for making up for your mistakes. I consider it a gift that my master wants me, despite my flaws, and I want to do my best to please him. Taking punishment for all the mistakes I make with a grateful attitude is proof to my master that, even though I have literally *been* bad, I am not a *bad slave*. It's only out of the graciousness of our master's heart that we are given a chance to prove ourselves worthy to remain his slave at all. He could simply replace us with another. All slaves are thankful for the master that allows them to make up for their wrongs."

Okay, on some level that made sense. But it was also a little twisted. "Oh, I see. You're grateful to be punished because your master could just throw you away and get another and it's just because he's a nice guy that he doesn't do that every time you do one little thing wrong."

Dave nodded, face serious, obviously not catching Kurt's sarcasm. "If your car breaks down you can fix it or sell it for scrap. You only fix it if it is something you care about. Maybe you care about it because it is fast, or cool, or has just run really well for you for a long, long time. Fix it and it will run again and then be fast or cool or faithful like it was. But if it doesn't get fixed, then what is the point of keeping it? Dominance is like regular maintenance and punishment is like being fixed." Its voice grew a little desperate and its eyes were starting to look disturbingly shiny, like maybe a tear or two was about to fall. "I want to be fixed, Master Kurt. I want to prove that I am something worth caring for."

Kurt chewed on his lower lip for a moment then shook his head, feeling confused. "Okay, that works for cars… but I dunno if that applies to people…"

Dave blinked up at his, eyes pleading for him to understand. "But I'm not a person, Master Kurt, I'm a slave. Please, Sir, don't take away my chance to be my best for my master. That's all this slave wants."

And that was the point, wasn't it? It wasn't a person, it was a slave. The other boy was practically crying because Kurt had said that he didn't want it to get punished. Before that, it had been perfectly fine, despite knowing it would be in trouble. And it had planned to *tell* its handlers that it needed to be punished! That didn't seem like something that any of the people Kurt knew would do.

All those liberationists could say what they wanted—he bet they had never seen a little boy slave almost cry because you wouldn't let it be punished. This system had existed for thousands of years, with slaves faithfully serving the elite. Who was Kurt to question how a slave's mind worked? To say it shouldn't be punished just because Kurt, a freeman, wouldn't want to be punished? They were slaves. Maybe slaves wanted different things. In fact, it seemed kind of self-centered to say that everybody needed to think exactly like he did.

"All right, okay," Kurt said gently, reaching out to ruffle the other boy's hair. "You can… report for your punishment or whatever, okay? It'll be okay."

Dave's smile was so bright that Kurt couldn't help but smile back.

"Thank you, Master Kurt. This slave is *very* grateful. Maybe you're my Master in shining armor?"


	7. Ch 7: Master in Distress

****If you would like to read this on my livejournal instead of the evil ff net, you can find it at****

****pucktheperv [dot] livejournal [dot] com [slash] tag [slash] bornthisslave****

o o o****  
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**Author's Notes:** I will love you if you review. I really do want to know what people think about this... interesting world, LOL!

o o o

**Chapter 7: Master in Distress**

o o o

"So, interested bloggers want to know—is it true, Karofsky?" Dave shut his locker with a slam loud enough to be heard from China, shoving aside Jew Fro's tape recorder as he moved off down the hall, twisting his lips up in annoyance. God, he was sick of this crap. These McKinley idiots were driving him crazy! It was just an endless precession of shit.

First, the glitter and eggs incident. *That* had left his neck bruised and his temper bleeding. Seriously, he was gonna scramble *something* before the day was over, and it was probably going to be Scott Cooper's huevos with some chopped Suzie Peppers thrown in for a little spice. Hitting his Master with eggs! The little bitch! Not to mention that this glitter was *never* going to come out of his hair. His Master was Kurt Hummel, God of Bling. Dave had *experience*. That stuff went everywhere from your nose hair to your butt crack and it *didn't* come off!

Then, as if his day wasn't going well enough already, he'd been mobbed by a group of SAS-ers, all PC in their fancy little shirts that Master Kurt had made for them. Whip slavery? Were they insane? They had fallen all over him, sobbing out their condolences and swearing that they were going to rescue him—if they had only known what a horrible life he led, they could have helped him so much sooner! Ha. Dave called bullshit. The bitches hadn known he was a slave from his first day here. There were quite a few clues, after all, ranging from the enormous silver collar on his neck to the fact that he'd been introduced by Principal Figgins as "our new McKinley slave, Mr. slave David Kar-of-the-sky." They were just looking to market their little club! He loved how they didn't think it was insulting at all to go on and on about his terrible plight, not giving a damn that Dave worked really hard to be a good slave and was *proud* of his place, every single of of them talking like his whole life's work was totally worthless. Fuck them, the self-righteous twats.

After that had been the weird punk girl with the nose ring and the purple hair who had come up to him and informed him that she and her boyfriend wanted to live an alternative lifestyle and could he, please, teach her man how to be a sex slave? Dave was pretty sure he had vomited a little at the images that had flashed through his head.

And if all of that wasn't enough, now Jacob Ben Idiot was in his face.

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about," Dave said flatly, reaching out and knocking the recorder to the floor. "Get gone."

Jacob let out a squeak as he scrambled on the floor for his tape recorder. "I am talking about your elicit double life as Kurt Hummel's loyal sex slave and butt buddy!"

Dave moved off down the hall, scowling, and the other boy had to jog to keep up.

"I heard that you lick glitter from the crotch of his panties and wipe his butt with your face. So, please, inquiring avatars want to know: Is it true?"

Dave swung around, walking backward so that he could give the little perv a full on Face of Death, trusting his manly jock scent to keep the weaker masses scattering and his path clear. "You know what?" he said, voice sickly sweet. "It is true. I *do* kidnap highly unattractive teen boys with pubic hair growing from their heads and hold them down with my enormous biceps while Master uses strange utensils to remove their intestines through their butt-holes. And, considering that the good Lord of Abraham graced *you* with pubes all over your body, Ben Israel, I think you would make the perfect candidate for our weirdo abduction scheme."

The Perez wannabe came to a sudden halt, eyes widening and tape recorder slowly dropping back to his side. "Oh. I see. Well, um, thanks for your comments, Karofsky! My readers appreciate it! Have a nice day!" He turned on his heel to run then let out a screech when he found himself face-to-chest with a smirking Azimio.

"Well, well, what have we got here? Lunch money with legs!"

Ben Israel made a sound that kind of reminded Dave of a goose taking a tough shit, then leapt to the side and took off down the hallway, leaving Azimio laughing.

Dave's pulse sped up slightly. He'd managed to avoid Azimio all day, ducking into classrooms whenever he'd seen students running in terror. It was usually Coach Sylvester, but sometimes it was Azimio and he hadn't wanted to take the chance. After hearing every synonym of "queer" that existed in the English language come out of varying members of the hockey and football team's mouth today, he hadn't wanted to know what Azimio would think of him belonging to Master Kurt.

Which was absolutely and totally insane. No, not just insane—it was last Wednesday's word from the Word A Day calendar. Absurd. It was absolutely and totally *absurd*. He lived for Master Kurt! He was proud to belong to Master Kurt! And if Azimio thought that was weird, and that it made him—well, not a queer, because Master was a queer and it wasn't a *bad* thing—but made him something that Azimio didn't want to be around, well, it didn't matter, right? It wasn't like they were friends or anything. Freemen didn't make friends with slaves. They were acquaintances at most. All he needed was his Master.

And, yeah, okay, Azimio was the closest thing he had to the sort of relationship that most slaves got to have with their fellow slaves. And Dave, being Master's only slave, *did* miss the almost familial bonds that existed in their village-like communities on elite estates. Hell, even the poor corporate slaves, who had to live eight slaves to a tiny apartment in the slums with little food and less purpose, got to have friendships with their own kind. But it didn't matter. Dave still had his frequent visits to Master Kurt's family's estate to see his fellow slaves and, even if he didn't, he wouldn't give up being Master's prize for *anything*. How could he be loney? He was never really alone. He had his Master, after all.

But he really would miss getting to spend time with 'Z.

Azimio moved toward him, looking uncomfortable. "Yo," he said, swinging his backpack around, probably just for something to do with his hands.

"Hey," Dave replied, stuffing his own hands into the pockets of his letterman. As a trained slave he had no problem standing straight and leaving his hands hanging limply at his sides, but he'd observed that common people seemed to see that as awkward.

"Soooo," Azimio dragged the word out, scratching lightly at the back of his head. Freeman just seemed to have a psychological need to always be moving in some way. "What's up?"

What was up? Well, the whole school had just found out that he was not just a slave, but a slave owned by a gay teenager who went to their school. Other than that? "Not much."

Azimio nodded slowly, accepting the obvious lie. "You ditched the end of practice yesterday. Coach is pissed, dude."

Dave gave a short laugh. "When is Coach not pissed?"

"Point, man." There was another awkward pause as they just stood there in the middle of the hall, the fearful student masses hugging the lockers to avoid brushing them as they passed. "So… I, uh, heard—"

Whatever Azimio had "heard"—and Dave could damn well guess what—was cut off by a loud voice.

"Yo, Karofsky! I hear you worship Kurtsy Faggots's balls!"

Dave looked up sharply, baring his teeth as Scott Cooper marched up to them, followed closely by the Great Wall of Mullets. The boy made a crude motion, tonguing his cheek and pumping his fist crudely next to his mouth. "You give Hummel hummers? Be the queer's rear?"

Dave hissed in annoyance, anger surging at Cooper's words, despite the truth of them. If it had been an elite asking, Dave would have bowed his head and submissively answered, "Yes, sir." But Cooper sure as hell wasn't no elite and, until his Master specifically told him otherwise, it was his *duty* as a slave to fit in with the commoners and act as they expected. And they expected him to be a dumb, violent jock. So it wasn't like he was doing this for *himself* or anything.

"Go fuck yourself, Cooper."

"Like your faggot Master fucks your faggot ass?"

Dave's fists clenched. They could call him a faggot if they wanted—it didn't bother him. Hell, he'd been letting them do it all day. He was a slave. "Faggot" may have been the worst thing they felt you could call somebody, but it was an insult for a person and that was a step up from a slave. But the bastard needed to shut his mouth about Master Kurt!

Dave opened his mouth, ready to snap out a detailed description of what he was planning to do Cooper's testicles—with an emphasis on how it would be *far* less pleasant than anything he'd ever done for Master Kurt—when Azimio stepped in, shoving the redneck hard into the line of puckheads behind him, sending half the boys toppling to the ground.

"How bout you close your mouth, Cooper, about my boy here, before I hit you in the face so day-am hard that they gotta wire it shut and feed you through a goddamn tube?"

Dave looked at Azimio in surprise, eyes growing wide. What the hell? That was *not* what he has expected from the other boy.

Cooper climbed to his feet, looking furious. "Oh, you hanging with a faggot's bootlicker now, Azimio? It was bad enough that you were all BFF with a stupid slave anyway! But Kurt Hummel's butt plug? That's got to be as low as you can go." He paused, a vicious look coming over him. "Or does Hummel let you play with him? That why you started letting this brainless, collared fuckwad follow you around like your new pet? And here I just thought you wanted to steal *our* talent for your precious football team. But maybe it was *another* sort of talent that *you* were looking for?" He laughed crudely. "I know Karofsky can fit four pucks in his mouth. I bet that's just the kind of talent you like!"

Dave's face flamed as he glanced over at the disgusted look on Azimio's face. Oh, God, this day just kept getting better and better.

"You know what, Cooper?" Dave shouted suddenly, just wanting to… what was the word Kurt had taught him Monday? Diffuse. Just wanting to diffuse the situation but not having a clue how, especially with Azimio looking like he might vomit all over Dave's face, Cooper's words obviously making him want to puke. And now that Cooper was screaming it in the hall, it wouldn't take long for *that* rumor to spread. Shit, Azimio was gonna be so pissed. "I'll show you my talent! My talent with my *fist*!"

"Oh yeah?" Cooper said, voice suddenly calm and a big, nasty smile on his face.

Dave shifted uncomfortably. Why did he feel like he'd just fallen into a trap?

"Did you just physically threaten me, a *freeman, Karofsky?" He gave a pointed look to his group of lackies and they all began to nod their heads. "I think you did—and I have witnesses! I may just have to report you to SLAP and see how pretty little Hummel likes being fined for his slave's fuck ups!"

Dave's mouth dropped open, his pulse surging. Had Cooper really just threatened him with SLAP? No one at McKinley have ever threatened to turn him into Slave Legislature and Processing, even after years of swirlies and patriotic wedgies. Being reported to SLAP for threatening a freeman was a major, major no-no. Until about five years ago, it was just expected that an owner would keep his slaves in check, no government intervention needed. However, there *were* instances where slaves attacked commoners, despite the fact that the elite claimed to have complete control over their possessions. Finally someone clever at SLAP had realized that these attacks—which were usually on, say, nasty old men selling rip-off designer bags or rude women who cut in line at the grocery store—were, most likely *ordered* by the slavemasters, hence nobody bothering to stop the slaves. So SLAP had decided to create a system where a commoner could report a slave to the state for physical violence or threat and they could take action themselves, as a way to "protect the people." So now the state, along with physically punishing the slave, would fine the owner and create a "governmental file" for that slavemaster, as nebulous an idea as that was.

Obviously no one wanted a "file" with the state, so it had cut down on slave attacks immensely. Now the slavemasters just kicked the commoners in the nuts themselves, then paid off the police officer who showed up to write the assault ticket.

Dave took a deep breath and forced himself to shut his mouth, as much as he wanted to call Cooper out as the son of a bitch he was. If the kids at McKinley were going to start threatening him with SLAP, his good times at the school were just going to be memories. He couldn't let his Master get a bad name for his actions. And he would have to be on his *best* behavior, silent and submissive all the time because, in truth, slaves were guilty until proven innocent in the eyes of SLAP. If he sneezed wrong then the other students could report him and the slave bureau would fine and tag his Master.

Fuck Cooper, that cowardly bastard.

"Oh, you got nothing to say now, huh, Karofsky?" Cooper sneered. "Bet you wish you had never left the hockey fold now. I think that Hummel went and turned you gay."

Dave held back a smart retort. Gay? Master had turned him *gay?* He was a slave who'd been in chastity his whole life. Who the fuck knew anything about his sexuality and what the *hell* did it have to do with his Master? God, he wanted to punch the twit in the face. And yesterday he could have. But now…

Dave swallowed down his pride—he shouldn't have any damn pride anyway!—and dropped his eyes respectfully, grimacing slightly at the derisive sound of Cooper's laugh. This was not a pleasant feeling. Cooper was trash. It was damn hard to remember that he was Dave's better. Dave just wasn't used to having to submit in the halls of this school.

Azimio must think he was a real pussy.

Dave grimaced at the thought. Where had that come from? He needed to get his pride in check and remember that he was a *slave*, dammit! False pride only got slaves hurt.

"Aw, look, the slave's bowing to big Master Cooper now, ain't it?" The laughter was vicious and Dave's cheeks grew warmer. It was easy to submit completely to a Master like Kurt. This was harder.

"Yeah, boys, looks like the bitch is worshiping us now—"

There was a sudden crashing sound and Dave looked up sharply, eyes widening as he watched Cooper slide down the lockers ten feet across the hall, eyes dazed, a little moan escaping his lips as he tried to focus on Azimio, who was towering over him, a scowl on his face.

"You think you can mess with my brother there, puckhead? I say that you're the one who better be a good bitch and keep its head down or me and my man there will remove your private parts and pin them on Eeyore's ass! And you only *think* I am being metaphorical! My littler sis got herself quite a collection of Winnie the Pooh toys and I will be glad to pin your prick to the donkey! It will feel at home, at least, since it's used to being attached to an ass!"

Cooper just kind of stared up at him, looking like he was seeing stars.

"Well?" Azimio said, tilting his head to the side. "You got somethin' to say? No? Oh, why doesn't that surprise me? You just remember: If you *ever* threaten to turn my boy into SLAP again, your penis will be hanging by a pretty pink bow from a farm animal's behind!" He moved back toward Dave, slapping an arm around his shoulders. "Come on, man, let's leave these asses to their tea party party."

Dave obediently followed, a little shocked by what had just gone down. Had Azimio really just threatened to rip Cooper's dick off if he turned Dave into the processing board?

Azimio was moving quickly and Dave matched his pace, his heart in his throat. What was going on here? The hallways were clear—Dave guessed the bell had rung sometime during that little drama, though he hadn't been paying attention—and Azimio stopped in front of the Astronomy room, pushing the door open a few inches and glancing in, the opening it all the way. It was never safe to just pull open the Astronomy room door without checking first. For some reason it was the one classroom in the school that never seemed to have class, and kids were always making out in it.

Dave's stomach twisted a little. Why the hell had Azimio taken him here?

Azimio turned to face Dave, eyes serious. "D-Man, we need to talk. Now."

Dave dropped his eyes automatically at Azimio's commanding tone, body tensing as he followed the other boy into the room.

It would be okay. Everything would be okay.

Azimio was probably just pissed that in about ten minutes the rumor mill was going to be singing that Master Kurt was letting him fuck Dave. That would explain his anger at Cooper, anyway. Damn that rumor starting piece of brainless shit. Or maybe he wasn't totally brainless, since he had figured out that he could use SLAP against Dave—but most of his brain was probably in his dick.

Dave could understand why Azimio would be pissed. He bet the boy would spend the rest of the semester being called a queer, until he could finally do something manly enough to prove his hetero-ness. It was gonna take *a lot* of Porta Potty rolling.

One thing was for sure—Azimio *definitely* wouldn't want to be seen with Dave anymore. And that was okay. It was. Really. Dave was grateful for what he had gotten—Azimio had treated him like a buddy, even though he was only a slave, but he should have realized that it wouldn't last forever. But another semester or two would have been nice.

Dave was really gonna miss Azimio. They'd had many good times. He would remember their many escapades with a Costco bundle of Charmin Ultra and a water hose for the rest of his life.

But Dave would be okay. He would still have his Master to care for, after all. His purpose in life. And that would make it okay. It really would.

When Master had first met Dave, He'd called him His "slave in shining armor" as He'd smiled at him through tears. And nothing had ever made Dave as happy as helping his "Master in distress."

Not even painting the football field pink with Azmio.

o o o

**6 Years Ago**

David laughed as he pushed Micah off the rock and into the pond. The other boy let out a loud screech as he toppled into the water, splashing madly. David began to do a little victory dance, a huge grin on his face. This was so much fun!

Micah sputtered to the surface, making a face at David as water ran out of his nose. "I'll get you for that!"

It was a beautiful summer day at Master's estate. The wildflowers were all in bloom, the black eyed susans, spider wort, and butterfly weed a vibrant smear of color all around the small pond. The woods just beyond were vividly green, and there were all sorts of birds chirping—even ducklings flapping in the pond!

David's work was done until lunchtime, and Micah's was too. They had a whole hour 'til eating time and, though they'd have been perfectly happy to sit in the kitchens and drool over the smell of simmering beef stew, Mawmaw and Miss Fannie had chased them out just because they'd started *one* little flour fight! They'd each gotten a dozen smacks with a wooden spoon for that one, but it was so warm and nice outside that David hardly even cared that his bottom was freshly welted.

It was way more fun outside than in the kitchens, anyway. A nice break from a hard day's good work! David and Micah had been cleaning the stables and bringing in bales of hay from the pastures since three hours before dawn. There was still more mucking to do, but the stablemaster had let them off for lunch a little early for being such good slaves. And *that* meant that it was time to have fun!

After being chased out of the kitchens, they'd decided to head out to the pond, stripping off all their sweaty, manure stained clothes and jumping butt naked into the cool water. David had caught two lizards already, one of which he'd put in Micah's hair. It had made the boy scream, which was hilarious! And he'd also almost got the tail of a fish! Or it might have been some pond weed, but he liked to think he'd almost caught a fish!

After a few minutes of swimming and splashing they'd climbed out of the water, chasing each other around the pond with laughter until David had suddenly doubled back without warning and pushed the other boy in.

"I'm gonna get you for that, Davey!" the boy yelled again, laughter in his voice as he climbed up onto the bank. "Just you wait!"

David let out a yelp as the other boy reached down and grabbed a handful of mud, lobbing it in his direction. Dave ducked just in time, the mud going over his shoulder. He opened his mouth to laugh at the other boy's bad aim, then cut off abruptly when he heard a short scream, whirling around. What the…?

Dave's eyes widened as he watched a small boy, his face covered in mud, stumble backward, landing hard on his bottom, the bundle of wildflowers he'd had in his hand flying into the air and scattering everywhere. Dave choked a little as he took in the boy's fancy clothes and shiny shoes, mind quickly recognizing them for the riches they were.

Micah was laughing madly, obviously having *no* clue what he had done, and Dave felt panic rising in his chest, his breath coming a little too fast and his heart pumping madly.

He knew who this boy was. Just yesterday he had seen him for the first time, when the boy had been lost in the manor. This was young Master Kurt, the grandson of Mistress Annabeth and Master Elijah.

The boy was laying stunned in the grass, mud dripping down his pretty, pale face. Dave ran over and dropped to his knees beside him, feeling frantic.

Was he hurt? Was he *dead*? Had they *killed* Master's grandson? Oh God, oh God, this couldn't be happening!

Micah was still giggling and Dave shot him a furious glare over his shoulder. "Shut up, slave! This is Master Kurt, grandson of Master Elijah that you've just hit with mud! You have nothing to laugh about and little to live for!"

Micah's laughter cut off like it had been strangled, his face turning a ghostly white color that was almost as extreme as the heavy scarring that marred his face. "Oh my God!" He ran out of the pond, tripping over his own feet as he scrambled toward them.

Dave leaned down, carefully inspecting the other boy. Oh, thank God, he was breathing. Master wasn't dead.

The was a soft moan and the boy's eyes opened. He let out a little yelp, the fact that David was practically nose to nose with him probably giving him a scare.

"Master! Master Kurt, are you okay?" Dave glanced worriedly over at Micah, whose shoulders were shaking in obvious terror. Please, please, please, let Master Kurt be okay.

Master Kurt sat up with a grimace, squinting his eyes and glancing around. "Slave Dave?" He touched his face, fingers coming away covered in mud, and he made a horrified sound.

Somehow Dave thought that Master Kurt did *not* like dirt.

The fact that Master remembered him was a good sign, at least. Well, a good sign that he wasn't brain damaged or anything. Not a good sign for the state of David's backside when his handlers heard about this.

David glanced over at Micah again, wetting his lips nervously. The boy was standing there, tears pouring down his cheeks, his already wretchedly scarred face looking even more terrible all twisted in fear.

David took a steadying breath. Think. He needed to think. Micah was a good boy. A loyal slave. He was just a dog boy, though, and had probably received next to no training, just a cheap buy that might never have even met their Master. This might be the first time he'd ever even seen a Master, and he'd thrown mud in his face. He had a reason to be terrified.

Being a dog boy was one of the worst jobs ever. Dog boys worked day and night keeping up the stables, but that wasn't their real job. Their real job was much, much worse than hard, smelly work. When the hunting dogs needed to be exercised, dog boys were sent off into the woods by the barn. Ten minutes later the dogs were released to chase the dog boy's scent. The goal was to make it to the slave quarters on the opposite side of the estate before the dogs got them. Master's dogs were fast and well trained, however, and it rarely happened. Micah's body was covered in scars from where the dogs had caught him, ripping into him and dragging him back to the stables. They had even gotten his face, more than half of it marred with ugly scars from where the dogs had clamped down on his cheeks and yanked. He was eleven, having been a dog boy for almost a whole year. Most dog boys didn't survive much more than that.

David, on the other hand, had been trained for eight years by one of the most famous slave trainers in Ohio. He had won titles for his Master and had been hand picked at auction by Master Elijah for his abilities in pleasure service. Dave had cost Master Elijah six figures. Micah had probably been picked up for no more than a few hundred.

Throwing mud in Master's face was no small offense, accident or not. They really shouldn't have been throwing mud at *all.* The beating would be intense, likely by Master Elijah himself with a remembrance whip. There would definitely be scars. No getting around that. Not for something like this. But that didn't worry David. He had plenty of scars. And slaves should face their punishment, accept it. He believed that one hundred percent.

What worried David was the fact that a whip could also kill a slave, if the beating was vigorous. Even Master Elijah himself wouldn't risk taking it that far with a slave as pricey as David. But Micah… Micah might very well never see another day for this.

David squared his shoulders, taking a deep breath and turning his full attention to Master Kurt.

"We were playing in the pond, Master Kurt, and I didn't see you behind me." He took a deep breath. It was very, very, very wrong to lie to a Master, but he didn't want Micah to die. "I was being silly and flung mud over my shoulder and hit you with it."

Micah made a small sound and Dave gave him a sharp look. The boy stared at him for a long moment then gave him a thankful look, a sob of relief wracking his body.

"I mean no excuse for what I did, Master, and I look forward to my severe punishment for such actions." He nodded in Micah's direction. "Slave, go to the kitchens and get clean water and rags to wash the stench of this pond off of Master!"

The boy obediently took off toward the manor and David turned his attention back to Master Kurt, reaching out and using his hand to wipe away the worst of the mud on Master's face.

"I am so, so sorry Master, though I know my apologies are worthless."

The boy made a strange face, shaking his head. "It's okay, slave Dave. It was an accident." He gave Dave a small smile. "And if you're wiping that mud off of me, I guess you're my slave in shining armor again. And I am just a regular Master in distress!" He paused, raising an eyebrow as he glanced down at Dave's naked body. "Not that you're wearing much armor, slave Dave."

Dave gave a soft chuckle. "We were swimming, Master. And, yes, it was an accident, a terrible accident, and I look forward to my punishment. I will report for discipline as soon as I tend to Master. Would you like me to tell the handlers to wait until you can watch?"

The boy frowned, reaching up to wipe some more of the mud away, but David caught his hand, giving him a small smile. "Please, Master, don't dirty yourself further. This slave will clean you."

"Um… thanks. Look, you don't have to report for punishment, okay? I mean, I know you were really upset yesterday when I wasn't going to let you be punished when you were bad. But this was totally an accident. Maybe yesterday you knew you were breaking rules, but this…" Master Kurt paused, looking a little embarrassed. He looked cute with his cheeks all pink. "Well, it was kind of my fault, too. I was picking flowers and I… well, I saw you boys playing. I was just coming over to say hi. You know, since you helped me out when I was lost yesterday." He hesitated when Dave's thumb passed across his nose and Dave bit his lip in concentration, doing his very best to wipe every little streak of dirt from Master's face onto his own chest. "The truth is… I was going to tell you I wanted to play with you."

David's paused in his ministrations, eyes widening a little. "Surely Master Kurt has better things to do than play with slave boys?"

Master shifted uncomfortably on the ground, then reached out for one of the many flowers he'd dropped, picking it up and holding it close, kind of like he had held his doll yesterday.

A small smile tugged on David's lips. Master liked flowers? Then Master would have flowers. Dave began to pick up the dropped blossoms and Master Kurt made a happy noise.

"Thank you, slave Dave," he said quietly, lips curling up into a little bow of a smile. "The truth is? No, I don't have anything better to do than play with slave boys. I… I don't really have anyone to play with at all. Especially now that Elizabeth the Second is… gone. Among other people."

David looked up, brow furrowing. The sudden sadness in the young Master's voice was so strong it almost seemed to cut. Like a whip to the heart. He didn't think he'd ever heard anyone sound quite that sad.

David picked up the last daffodil and slowly offered the bundle to Master Kurt, hoping that they might make him a little happier. "Master's flowers?"

Master Kurt rewarded him with a tiny smile, raising them to his nose and giving them a little sniff. "Thank you, slave Dave." He glanced around the pond, looking wistful. "My mom and I used to come here to pick wildflowers every summer. We'd bring a little tea set with us and sit under the willow tree and have a tea party with my dolls."

"With Elizabeth the Second?" David questioned, actually thinking it rather cute that Master liked to play with dolls so much. David had never met a boy quite like him.

Kurt laughed, dropping his eyes to his flowers. "No… my grandma gave her to me after… after my mom went away. So I wouldn't be alone." He sniffed. "Of course, it wasn't really the same. My mom died in January. She was my best friend in the world." He looked back up, giving David a sad smile. "I miss her so much."

Dave lowered his eyes, wanting to comfort the boy but not really knowing what to say. He had been trained for many, many things, but not for this. "I am very sorry for your loss, Master."

"It's just hard losing a mom, you know?"

Dave gave him a small smile. "Well… I never knew my mom. Or I might have known her, but I was birthed by a slave breeder and they take the slave babies not long after they're born and mix them together so we never really know who our moms are. It's in our registration, but we don't get to see that." He swallowed hard, a sadness rising in him. "I miss my trainer, though. Master Karofsky trained me personally for most of my life. Sitting at His feet and seeing Him smile down at me was my favorite thing ever. I am very glad to belong to Master Elijah," he added quickly, not wanting Master Kurt to think he was anything less than very grateful for his new Master, "but I was sad when Master Karofsky sold me." He licked his lips. "But not as sad as Master is for your mom, I think. I'm just a slave, after all."

Master Kurt looked down at the flowers again then back up, giving David a hesitant smile. "I… I just don't want to be alone anymore. Slave Dave… do you think maybe you would want to come and have a tea party with me?"

David opened his mouth then shut it again, thinking. He would get into trouble when he didn't show up for his afternoon work, but a Master's commands came before anything. And, truthfully, he just wanted to make the sad look in Master Kurt's eyes go away. He didn't want Master Kurt to be a Master in distress.

"I would be honored to serve Master his tea."


	8. Ch 8: Fallen

****If you would like to read this on my livejournal instead of the evil ff net, you can find it at****

****pucktheperv [dot] livejournal [dot] com [slash] tag [slash] bornthisslave****

o o o****  
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**Summary:**Everything is going well for Glee Club until a drop in the economy leaves one of their own in a desperate situation. The bank is foreclosing on Sam and he is about to be sent into a world of legal slavery - a trade that is entirely foreign to everyone except the highest of society. The situation seems helpless until Kurt comes forward with a secret that may save Sam's life-but it may also lose Kurt his friends when they find out that one of their own is, in fact, a slavemaster. And his slave is no other than Dave Karofsky.

**Author's Notes:**THERE IS NON-CON IN THIS CHAPTER. Flashback non-con, but still non-to-the-con. (And I promise, after this chapter we will be away from flashbacks and back to Kurt/Dave interaction, LOL.) BTW, I adore reviewers. I do. I sacrifice Fruit Roll Ups on an altar in their glory.

**Story Note:** The song Dave is singing is a traditional folk song called 'The Gloucestershire Wassail' or 'Wassail, Wassail, All Over the Town.' Great song. Wanna hear it? Go to Born This Slave on my livejournal at **pucktheperv [dot] livejournal [dot] com [slash] tag [slash] bornthisslave** and check out Chapter 8-there is a link to download the version by Broceliande!

o o o

**Chapter 8: Fallen**

o o o

"D-Man, we gotta talk. Now." Azimio paused, looking uncomfortable, and Dave took a steadying breath. All he needed was his Master. All he needed was his *Master.* Whatever Azimio said, it didn't matter. Because all he needed was his Master.

The idea that Azimio was his "friend" had been crazy anyway. Dave had been more like a good dog. Yeah, that was a fair way to word it. A freeman wouldn't have a slave as a friend, but a pet sort of made sense. Something loyal that would follow you around. Fun to spend time with but not quite the same as an actual *friend.*

"Look, obviously I always knew you were a slave, okay?" Azimio laughed, the sound thick. "I mean, Ben Israel called you 'the foreign exch-shlave student' in his blog, and the fact the you wear a collar as thick as my freakin' wrist on that enormous neck of yours kinda gave it away, too." Azimio gestured vaguely at his throat like Dave needed some sort of illustration to understand what he was talking about.

"Yeah, well, you're sort of supposed to know that I'm a slave," Dave said dryly. "It being illegal for slaves to claim to be freemen and all, dumbass." The second the words were out of his mouth, Dave regretted them. He needed to stop being a smart mouthed bitch. His days at pretending to be just one of the guys were over. He needed to start watching what he said. If he sassed Azimio before, the guy might have given him a noogie or elbowed him in the gut or something, but now that people were starting to treat him like the slave that he was, Dave might very well get a fist to the face or get his hand slammed shut in a locker a couple dozen times or something.

Azimio just shot him an irritated glance, however, and continued. "And you can be weird sometimes. Not knowing how to read. And the time the football team all come over to my place for a party and you spent the whole night serving everybody drinks and pretzels."

Dave winced. It wasn't always easy for a slave to fit in with commoners. They just didn't get that he had an intense need to serve. If he wasn't doing anything, well, he just sort of felt worthless. Lazy. It made him nervous. Serving others was… comforting. A reminder to himself and everybody around him of his worth. But it also wasn't something you were supposed to do when you were a jock at a party full of jocks.

"But I never… I guess I never really thought about what it *meant*. I mean, you had your weird moments, but you seemed mostly normal…"

Dave ducked his head. He *was* normal, for a slave. It was being like the commoners that he had to really work at. And it was *good* that he had to work at it, because a slave that forgot its place… Well, a lot of bad things could happen to it.

Azimio just stared at Dave for a long time, and the silence probably would have been uncomfortable for a freeman. But as a slave, Dave was used to standing in silence. It wasn't his place to talk.

"But you know what? Maybe that's just a bunch of bullshit. I think maybe I just didn't *want* to think about what you were. It was just easier to pretend you were another dude, a normal guy. My buddy. Instead of… what you are."

Somehow Dave didn't think this conversation was going to end with them being Best Friends Forever and coming up with a secret handshake.

"But… you're not a normal person." His voice sounded strange and Dave swallowed hard.

No, he wasn't a "normal person." He wasn't a person at all. And Azimio was finally starting to realize this. It was sort of making Dave feel numb, kind of like he'd been flogged for hours and, with each stroke, his skin felt a little more dead.

"I guess when I even thought about the slave thing at all, well, I figured you were one of those corporate slaves that, like, work a the Home Depot, ya know?"

The way he said it made it obvious that Azimio felt this was the better alternative. Common people were so naive. Corporate slaves' lives sucked, just a step above the rebel slaves in pounds, working twenty hours a day and living in a cardboard box with forty other slaves who all had to fight over a bite of moldy bread for breakfast. Then they had to go out into the middle class every morning and put on a happy face and fake that they had *anything* in common at all with your average American Joe, his iPod in his pocket and his cellphone to his ear.

"But it's time we talked, D. It's time to stop ignoring it."

Azimio stepped closer to Dave, making the slave's shoulder's tighten nervously. He and his buddy could be kind of touchy feely when they were slapping each others' backsides on the football field and stuff, but Azimio was now definitely *way* in Dave's Jock Personal Space. Hell, he was almost in Dave's Slave Personal Space, which basically meant being crotch to crotch with someone who wasn't Master.

Azimio set a hand firmly on Dave's shoulder, giving it a tight squeeze. Dave jerked slightly, eyes flickering over to look, then he sucked in a short breath when he felt Azimio's other hand come down on Dave's arm, holding it firmly. What the…?

"Finding out about this whole deal with Hummel… It made me think. So I took a break from the CSI forums for a few and did a little research online. About you. And I want to talk about something with you. Something kind of personal…" He paused. "*Really* personal."

He wanted to talk about something kind of—Dave's breath caught, his eyes widening, Azimio's hands on his body suddenly feeling like vices. Shit, shit shit. This was not good.

Dave… Dave had not expected this. He was such a fucking fool! Why shouldn't he have expected this? Wandering alone into an empty room with a freeman was so foolish! But he had assumed that he was Azimio's… Oh, he might as well come out and admit it. He'd thought of himself as Azimio's friend. Such a prideful thing to think! He had expected Azimio to treat him like a person, not a slave, and, once again, his stupid pride had gotten him into deep shit!

With the rumors already flying and his new understanding of what Dave really was, why *shouldn't* Azimio take advantage of his rights as a freeman? Dave should have known better than to get himself in a position where he was alone with any freeman who wasn't his Master. He has asked for it with his prideful insolence.

Dave choked back a panicked sound. If Azimio wanted to mount him, right here and now, there was nothing he could do to stop it. Dave wasn't sure if Master Kurt would be willing to share him with the other boy—Master did seem to like Dave spending time with Azimio—but he *definitely* would not be pleased if Dave was mounted without his permission. The last time it had happened his Master had cried. Dave had felt so guilty, watching tears run down Master's face and knowing that he was the reason they were there. But Mr. Azimio was a freeman. And there was nothing a slave was allowed to do to stop a freeman from mounting it.

It was sort of a faux pas to mount someone's slave without their permission, but it happened all the time. And not "all the time" as in "fifteen percent of the slave population is mounted without its Masters' permission every year." "All the time" as in every single slave that Dave had ever met—and Dave had met *a lot* of slaves—had been mounted in that way at one point or another, most multiple times. Especially the females. Dave had been mounted without Master Kurt's permission at least three times, and had been mounted that way dozens of times during his training with Master Karofsky. Some of those had actually been undercover training sessions, to help prepare the slaves for what would surely happen at some time in their lives. All together he had been mounted by strangers without Master's permission more than thirty times. Yet, somehow, each and every instance managed to be its own little shop of horrors. And despite training, it never got any easier.

A slave's body did not belong to the slave. It was considered to be on loan to them, which was why slaves were expected to take care of it and be thankful for it. But you didn't get to make any *decisions* about it. Slaves had no right to say either yes or no. You could not choose *to* have sex and you could not refuse a mounting. It was up to Master. If Master never ordered you to breed, you never had sex with your own kind. If Master wanted to mount you, He mounted you. But it was a little more tricky when it came to the technicalities of other freemen mounting a slave when Master was not around.

The thing was, if a slave was alone with no master to refuse for it, then it had to allow the freeman to mount it since it had no right to make decisions about its body. But, at the same time, it could not encourage the mounting in any way, say, actively putting in any effort, since that would be akin to saying "yes." So they were taught to stand like living dolls, unmoving and unresponsive, allowing the freeman to manipulate their bodies with no resistance but no encouragement. And you just let what was going to happen, happen. Then, later, you could beg forgiveness from your Master for putting His property in a situation where it could be desecrated.

Dave had been good at playing the bully and he had felt that it helped keep him safe from any freeman who might understand this… quirk… about slaves. He figured that they would just assume since he was such a big, tough type in public, that he would say "screw it" to slave laws and dunk their heads in a toilet if they cornered him in the bathroom or something. He hadn't really worried about it much at all, since it was a rare commoner who realized that it was perfectly acceptable to mount slaves in this way. Master Burt had seemed horrified when he found out, for some reason, yelling something about how you should be able to call the police about this sort of thing. Of course, Master Burt seemed to consider Dave almost a person.

But if Mr. Azimio had done his research…

Why, why, why had Dave assumed that Mr. Azimio would keep seeing him like… well, like a *person*? It was obvious from Cooper's little jab about SLAP that everyone's views on him were changing, *fast.* He should have stuck by his Master until he could feel out who would still treat him like a commoner and who would be seeing him for the slave he was!

This was all his fault. And now he was screwed. And would probably be screwed over and over again.

Dave just really hoped that Mr. Azimio would keep his new knowledge about slaves to himself and that his foolishness wouldn't leak over to the other slaves at McKinley, making it unsafe for slaves to walk alone anywhere in the school. He knew Coach Sylvester, at least, would keep her girls safe, but there was also a slave boy in the Brainiacs that the hockey team loved to pick on and if they figured out that they could mount him anytime they wanted and not get into any trouble… Dave didn't even want to imagine the shame the boy would feel.

Dave couldn't fight Mr. Azimio but maybe… just maybe he could convince him to take pity on him? No, he wasn't human, but they'd spent a lot of time together, butting chests and competing for the title of Slip N Slide Champ at Puckerman's house parties. Maybe he could get him to remember that, though he wasn't as complex as a person, he obviously *did* feel things. Maybe even try and get him to understand what it felt like to be mounted in that way? Explain the utter helplessness of knowing that this was a shameful act that you would have to confess to your Master, yet knowing you couldn't even try and pull away or risk violating everything a slave was, an offense a thousand times worse than being mounted.

Dave wasn't sure a big, strong man like Mr. Azimio *could* understand, but it was worth a try. He owed his Master that much. This body belonged to Him and he had to do what little he could to try and protect it.

"M-Mr. Azimio," he said, his voice shaking a little. "Please… not today. Not without my Master's permission. I… I'll ask Him for permission, okay? He might even give it. I think… I think that He likes you, the whole putting Him in a Dumpster thing aside. He always encouraged me to spend time with you." Dave's tongue flickered out nervously. "I can't stop you, obviously. I have no right to. It… it is my fault for acting so superior, going off alone with a freeman instead of staying by Master's side. But we… we've had a lot of good times together. And so I wanted to tell you that, even though I am only a slave and even though I won't struggle and I'll try not to cry… too much, anyway," he swallowed hard, "if you do this, it will still make me really sad. I know I am only a slave, but… we can be sad. And I know I am not worthy of being your friend, but I think that I have been loyal to you. So please… please don't hurt my Master like this." He paused. "Please don't hurt *me* like this."

Because it really did hurt. And it was something you never forgot. No matter how many times it happened.

o o o

Fall was in the air and Dave had never felt happier. The leaves were dropping in beautiful bursts of color, the air was crisp but not too cold, and he felt strong and energized, having just come from football practice. Homecoming was this weekend and he couldn't wait! With Coach Bieste to help them, they were actually doing good. And, well, it was prideful of him to even think it but, truthfully, Dave thought that having *him* on the team was a pretty big advantage, too.

Dave had been trained to protect his Master with his life, to leap in front of a knife or, hell, catch a fucking grenade for Him. Protecting Hudson from a bunch of clumsy teenage boys was child's play. He'd played rougher than that when he and the other slave children had wrestled for the M&Ms that Master Elijah would occasionally toss on the ground for them as He strode by.

And he had to admit, after such a great practice, he was feeling rather prideful. Dave really shouldn't have decided to walk home alone. It wasn't safe. He should have texted Master and met him down the street from the school like usual. Master Kurt's home was quite a ways from McKinley and you had to go through some rather deserted areas to get there. Out here on the streets was *not* like McKinley, and a free roaming slave with no Master to protect it could get hurt if an elite drove by and decided to take advantage of the slave's foolishness.

It was safe enough when you were out amongst a mass of common people—many slaves used slave passes to get on buses and even go shopping for their masters at commoner's groceries or boutiques. But to be alone with one freeman, or even alone with a group of elites that your Master did not know, was asking for trouble.

It was such a nice evening, however, that Dave had decided to walk back to Master's. It wasn't so very far and there were only a few back roads to take. It had given him a chance to pick up pretty leaves for Master, which he knew would please Him.

Dave sucked in a deep breath as he bent to pick up a lovely yellow leaf—some sort of hazel, maybe?—inhaling the scent of Fall. One thing he missed about working Master's estate was helping to gather pumpkins and pecans for the kitchen slaves to make homemade pies. It wasn't often that slaves got special treats but, on Thanksgiving, it was tradition amongst the elite to allow slaves their own meal, after their service to their masters was finished, of course.

Thanksgiving was one of the few times a year where they ate all sorts of rich foods and drank and danced, along with Yule and the week of Saturnalia, when several festivals involving a pretense of slaves becoming the masters and masters serving the slaves were traditional. The entire season was tinged with excitement for that one night of festivities. It made the whole season joyous, from the first hint of chill on the hot summer breeze until snow began to dust the estate's rolling hills and the Yule sleigh was pulled out of storage.

Dave smiled to himself and began to sing a good-harvest tune to himself, almost feeling like skipping.

"_Wassail, wassail all over the town, our toast it is white and our ale it is brown! Our bowl it is made of the white maple tree! With the wassailing bowl, we'll drink to thee!"_

Master Kurt usually went to His grandparents' for Thanksgiving so Dave would get a chance to dine with his fellow slaves. The other slave lads would be impressed by his tales of football glory and Dave was sure that Mawmaw would congratulate him for bringing such pride to his Master. Oh, and just wait until they found out that Master had decided to teach Dave his letters! Mr. Harry would be very proud that Dave's Master felt him such a prize! The foreign shapes were confusing and it was hard to remember which made what sound, but he could write his own name in big, messy letters and that would be impressive to his slave family!

"_So here is to Cherry and to his right cheek, pray God send our Master a good piece of beef, and a good piece of beef that may we all see! With the wassailing bowl, we'll drink to thee!"_ He sang the words loudly, doing a little spin on the cement.

A cold wind whipped, sending leaves tumbling from the trees, and Dave shivered, pulling his letterman more tightly around him, short hair dancing with the gust. When he reported to the estate for dominance this week he should drop by the pumpkin patch and pick a nice one for his Master. The crop had looked good earlier in the season and, by now, there should be some good pie pumpkins! Mr. Harry sure knew how to grow his squash!

Dave did a little kick and swish move as he began a folk dance he'd learned as a boy. _"Here's to our mare and to her right eye, pray God send our Mistress a good Christmas pie! And a good Christmas pie as e'er I did see! With a wassailing bowl, we'll drink to thee!"_

He would prepare the dainty little pumpkin for his artistic Master to carve and use the guts to make a pie for Master Burt—Miss Fanny had taught him how and if anyone made a good pie it was she! Master Burt loved Dave's kitchen skills, something about good, old fashioned home cooking giving him a nice break from fancy schmancy French food—though he had seemed amazed that a boy like Dave could cook at all.

'Is there *anything* they don't train you to do, kiddo?' Master Burt had asked in an astonished voice as he shook his head in disbelief at the crisp fresh bread Dave had just pulled from the oven.

"_And here's to Broad Mary and to her broad horn, may God send our Master a good crop of corn! And a good crop of corn that may we all see, with the wassailing bowl we'll drink to thee!"_ Dave linked his arm with no one and jogged in a circle, pretending Miss Sally or Miss Megan was dancing with him.

Master Burt's lack of knowledge of slave culture was almost amusing. No, they weren't trained in *everything*. Dave's training had been extensive, but focused mainly on personally pleasing a single master as, opposed to, say, Mr. Harry's training in cultivating crops and raising flowers. But slaves tended to teach one another all they knew—and there was certainly no shortage of useful knowledge! Hey, they said it took a village to raise a Born-slave, after all!

And living together on an estate was, indeed, like living in a little village of slaves, their Masters not unlike the noblemen of medieval days. Slaves weren't allowed to use money or drive cars and weren't provided the kinds of fancy technologies that freemen depended on, so they lived simple lives—but then slaves were a simple kind. They used horses or pony-carts to get around the estate, raised their own food alongside their Master's in the fields, and kept their homes warm with firewood collected from the woods so that Master would not have to pay to heat the slave quarters.

Though Dave's time with his actual *slave trainer* was spent mostly on pleasure service, the estate where Dave had trained had been its own self-sustained little world just like Master Kurt's family manor, and Dave's training had never truly been finished for the day. Mr. Robert had trained him to hook the horses to carts and ride the ponies, Miss Ginger had trained him to make apple pie and vegetable stew, Mr. Joe had trained him to clip the wilted blooms from the roses to that new blossoms would grow, and old Mr. Gord had trained him which bugs were essential for the health of a good vegetable patch and which would eat away at the leaves. Things that were important for any slave to know.

"_And here is to Fillpail and to her left ear! May god send our Master a happy New Year! And a happy New Year as he e'er did see! With a wassailing bowl, we'll drink to thee!" _Dave clapped his hands in the air as he did a little jump, laughing. He better never let Master Kurt see him like this or Master might make him join Glee Club! He was seriously high on the season.

Reading was interesting, as was history and mathematics and science and all the things they taught freemen at school, but Dave didn't think they were particularly useful, at least not to a slave. Knowing how to milk a cow so you could make butter was ultimately way more useful than knowing that a cow was an air-breathing, vertebrate mammal with a funny Latin name, at least in Dave's opinion. But then he was only a slave. Maybe freemen had some use for these things.

"_Here's to our cow, and to her long tail, pray God send our Master he never may fail! A good cup of beer I pray he draw near, and a jolly wassail it's then you shall hear!"_ Kick, kick, spin, and jump CLAP!

Another reason that Born-slaves disliked First-gens was their endless insistence that a freeman's knowledge was the only knowledge worth having. There was a First-gen who lived at Master Elijah's estate, a woman named Shelby that He had purchased after hearing her sing, saying she had the voice of an angel of the Lord. And she certainly did. If angels were bitches, anyway. But she wasn't good for much else other than singing.

Shelby—who in Dave's mind, didn't even deserve the respectful title of 'Miss' that he bestowed on almost all females—was insolent and arrogant. Every time Mistress assigned her a task, she took as long to do it as possible and tended to do such a half assed job that poor Miss Sally or Miss Fanny would have to re-do it. Shelby put herself on airs, always talking about how she had once gone to sing on some wide street in New York or something like that. She threw a fit when disciplined, cried during dominance, and when another slave corrected her for misbehavior or even just tried to teach her the correct way to do something, she would call them ignorant fools who couldn't even spell their own names.

This from the woman who had been chased, screaming, for half a mile by an angry rooster after she tried to pick up a chick without scattering the hens first and the cock swooped in to protect his flock.

And she called *them* stupid.

"_Come butler, come fill us a bowl of the best, then we hope that your soul in Heaven may rest! But if you do draw us a bowl of the small, then down shall go butler, bowl and all!"_ He mimicked someone falling over drunkenly, then jumped and clicked his heels together in the air, a grin on his face.

But Shelby refused to accept what she was and, therefore, was not accepted by the other slaves. Apparently she preferred to lead a lonely, angry life with no one to talk to and no one to work with, making every task ten times harder for herself than to lower herself to asking a fellow slave—who were *always* willing to teach—how to do a job quickly and efficiently.

"_Be here any maids? I suppose here be some! For sure they will not let young men stand on cold stone! Sing hey O, maids! Come trole back the pin, and the fairest maid in the house let us all in!"_ Dave dropped to one knee, holding his hands like he was begging, then leapt up and spun as he pretended to pull a flower out of his coat and present it to his imaginary dance partner.

Dave despised Shelby, as did every other Born-slave on the estate and this, too, pissed her off. Hell, *everything* seemed to piss her off. *Life* seemed to piss her off. She claimed they had no reason to hate her, yet every time the Master they had sworn loyalty to was out of ear-shot she cursed and insulted the man. She acted as if the jobs and duties they took pride in were worthless, never mind that if the pumpkins were not picked there would be no fall pies, and if the studs were not fed there would be no new foals, and if the roof wasn't swept there would no Yule lights. But in her free-born mind, every job they did was unimportant because it wasn't lauded by freemen. And, not least of all, her poor service and attitude reflected badly on them and their Master. Why the hell *wouldn't* they hate her?

Dave mimicked sweeping a girl off her feet and twirling her in the air, his voice loud and a little raunchy. _"Here's to the maid in the lily white smock, who tripped to the door and pulled back the lock, who tripped to the door and pulled back the pin, for to less these wassailers in!"_

Dave sucked in another hearty breath of Fall as more leaves swirled around him. He grabbed a particularly pretty one right out of the air, smiling. The leaf had sharp points, like the star of Bethlehem, and was brilliant red color that looked like hot coals burning on the hearth, a truly beautiful hue. Dave tucked it carefully into his pocket with the others. Master Kurt would be very pleased.

"_Wassail, wassail, all over town! Our toast it is white and our ale it is brown! Our bowl it is made of the white maple tree, with out wassailing bowl we'll drink to thee!"_ Dave gave one last spin and clap, laughing loudly. He was so crazy. He just couldn't help himself. It was such a beautiful season!

The sound of wheels on gravel and the soft roar of a car engine made Dave look up and he carefully stepped onto the curb so that it could pass, still humming his wassailing tune under his breath.

The car, however, began to slow, and a shiver that wasn't from the chilly weather ran through Dave as it pulled up beside him, his good mood gone in an instant, a little tinge of fear rising in his chest.

It was a shiny Cadillac, almost surely owned by an elite, and Dave swallowed nervously as the passenger side window rolled down to reveal a young face with dark skin and aristocratic features.

"Well, what is it that we have here?" the boy asked, though it wasn't really a question, his lips turning up in superior amusement. "I *thought* that was a slave collar I saw. What are you doing wandering the streets Master-less, slave?"

Dave dropped his eyes, shoulders tensing. "I am on my way back to my Master's house," he said, voice shaking a little. He was such a fool. Why, why, *why* had he decided to walk home, all alone, with no Master and no common eyes to keep him safe? It wasn't uncommon for elites to drive around in the Fall to watch the foliage change.

The engine of the car cut off and Dave's whole body went tight. He should run. But if he ran, there was nothing to keep them from chasing him. They might even "accidentally" hit him with their car. They were elite youth, after all. Dave's Master was sweet and kind-hearted, but many of the young elite, born to their place, found amusement in hunting slaves, either on horseback with dogs or on four wheelers with pellet guns along country roads. And if you ran off the road to escape, you might very well get a *real* bullet to the back. The elite youth didn't like it when you ruined their games.

The door opened and the youth stepped out, smirking at him, making Dave's gut twist. There was really only one reason that an elite youth would stop an unaccompanied slave along an empty road.

Dave had been well trained his whole life not to resist a mounting, even if Master had not approved it. But he also been taught that such things were wrong, a betrayal of your Master. It was your duty as a slave to take care of Master's possessions and putting yourself into a situation where a man your master didn't know could use your body was a crime.

But it happened. Even stable slaves, smelling like muck, would be mounted by elites visiting Master's estate who didn't bother to get permission from the Master before mounting them up.

Proper form was to just stand there. You were to let them thrust into your mouth but *never* suck or lick, to let them shove into your ass but never work your muscles to bring them extra pleasure. Saying neither no or yes. There was a degrading sense of lifelessness to it, like you weren't even a breathing creature, and it was a terrible feeling.

With a Master, there was a certain pride in pleasuring the one you served. This, though, was a shame on you, a crime you would have to confess to your Master and watch His face darken in anger at you for your foolishness.

There would be punishment, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the mark left on a slave's heart. Since mounting another's slave without permission was impolite but common when the elite got together to enjoy heavy drink, the physical discipline was actually quite light, just a few light strokes with a soft flogger—but the feelings of being unclean, of being unworthy of your Master were the true punishment. If he could not even stay good and pure for Master, what was he worth?

"Wes, I don't think we should do this."

Dave's eyes flickered up at the words. Another boy was climbing from the car, also dressed in a navy suit with red pin-striping. They must attend an elite boarding school.

While the boy standing in front of Dave was dark skinned and exotic looking, the other boy was pale and very short, shorter than even Master Kurt. As short as a woman. His hair was slicked back and, for some reason, he was wearing a pair of hot pink sunglasses. It reminded Dave of Master Kurt's eccentric accessories and a sharp sadness stabbed through him.

Master Kurt was going to be so disappointed in his foolish, prideful slave.

"Oh, shut up, Blaine," the boy called Wes said, sticking his nose in the air. "It knows better than to wander out alone. It was asking for this."

That, at least, was true. He had been a fool to walk alone along what he knew would be deserted roads. The freedoms Master Kurt blessed him with at McKinley were coming back to bite him on the ass. He deserved nothing less than this for flaunting himself on the streets, walking alone like a freeman.

"Hell, he probably wants it."

Dave whimpered slightly. *That* was not true, at least.

The boy glanced back at him, lip curling up in disgust. "Have something to say, slave?"

"Sir," Dave said, careful to keep his eyes lowered submissively, a little ashamed at how small and afraid he sounded. "Please, sir, my Master is expecting me—"

"Then your Master should have you on a leash," the Mr. Wes boy cut in, reaching out to fiddle with the button on Dave's jeans.

Dave held his breath, forcing his arms to remain motionless at his sides, body limp and unresponsive. If he was at McKinley, this boy wouldn't dare to threaten him for fear that his fancy face would end up in a toilet. Not that Dave would *actually* ever put an elite in a toilet—he was a fool but not *that* foolish!—but the mere threat of being big and loud and jockish was enough to keep anyone at MHS from messing with him.

"Wes, please stop," the little boy—Mr. Blaine, was it?—said, sounding upset. "You know how I feel about these things. I know they're just slaves, but this is inappropriate."

Hope was a dangerous thing, but Dave couldn't help but feel a little twinge of it when Mr. Wes looked over at his friend.

"Oh, hush junior Warbler Blaine."

The small boy let out a sigh, looking annoyed. "Fine. Whatever. I'm going to go sit in the car."

Hope officially extinguished.

"Do what you want," Mr. Wes replied briskly, tugging on Dave's jeans until they fell to the ground, taking the boxers he wore so that other boys at school wouldn't look at him strangely with them. The cloth piled around his ankles was effectively hobbling, not that Dave would dare try and run.

Dave shivered, goosebumps already blooming on his naked buttocks.

The boy yanked on Dave's letterman jacket, looking disgusted. "Why are you wearing this, slave? Are you on the run? Looking to play the freeman?"

Dave's eyes widened. "No, Sir! Never, Sir! Slave knows its place. Slave's Master has put it in school so that…" So that he could enjoy himself? He didn't think Mr. Wes would be pleased to hear that. "…So that He can watch it play sports." Most Masters that put their slaves in school did it as a form of vicarious living. Dave guessed it was energizing to get to claim that it was *your* slave who made the winning touchdown or whatever. "This slave was merely on its way to its Master."

The boy snorted. "Well, obviously your Master doesn't care what happens to you or He wouldn't have made you walk all alone. Probably thinks you've gotten uppity in your freeman's clothes and wants you brought down a peg. We'll be doing your Master a favor!"

"You're an ass, Wes."

"That was crude of you, Blaine," Mr. Wes retorted, voice brisk. "Come on now," he said, reaching up to yank off Dave's letterman, buttons popping open in a quick succession of snaps. "Let's get this off of you. You're not a freeman, slave, and you shouldn't be dressing above your station."

Dave held back a sob. Mr. Wes was right. He was so, so right. Dave had stepped out of his place. He had been so caught up in the joys of Fall, the excitement of football, and the upcoming Homecoming game that his pride had overcome his common sense. And he had put himself in a position to disappoint his Master. He deserved whatever came to him.

The elite boy dropped the jacket onto the street then reached up, grabbing Dave's polo shirt where it buttoned at the collar and pulling, hard. A button popped off but the material didn't give and the boy scowled, removing his hands and glaring at Dave like it was the slave's fault that he couldn't tear it apart.

"Rip it," Mr. Wes said shortly, actually pouting a little. When Dave just stood there, too distracted by the way the wind was making his balls ache combined with the growing sickness in his stomach to really comprehend what the boy had said, Mr. Wes reached up and slapped him hard across the cheek. "Rip it! This is too fancy for a slave to wear!"

Too fancy? It was an old, off brand blue polo shirt with horizontal lines in contrasting colors running across the front. Dave liked it a lot, even though he knew Master Kurt thought it was ugly as hell, but Master Burt had purchased it for him as present at his first Yule time at their home so Master Kurt allowed him to wear it. Dave had been overcome that Master Burt would get him a Yule gift, or a Christmas present, as he called it. Slaves would give each other Yule gifts of collected chestnuts and berries or small hand made trinkets, but for a Master to give a slave anything more than an approving a smile and a kind word was enormous. Dave had been honored and humbled to receive a physical gift, hoping it meant that Master Burt was pleased to own Dave, despite the fact that he was obviously very uncomfortable around the slave. The shirt had been way too big when he'd gotten it six years ago and now was a little too tight and definitely worn out. But Dave loved it.

Blinking away tears as he tried to pretend it was only the stinging of the wind making his eyes water up, Dave reached up and clenched the collar in two hands, tugging hard. There was a ripping sound and Dave let out a sob. Definitely not just the wind.

Mr. Wes just rolled his eyes and shoved Dave hard, the jeans still wrapped around his ankles making him stumble. "Lean against the car."

Dave obeyed, body moving sluggishly as he pressed his weight against the cold metal, naked except for the tattered shirt hanging off his chest.

"Wes," the little boy said, sounding frustrated. "I really don't like this is appropriate Warbler behavior!"

Dave felt hands begin to knead his buttocks.

"Be quiet, Blaine. It's only slave. I swear your liberationist nonsense is making me ill. That group of yours is no good!"

Mr. Blaine let out an exasperated sigh. "We're not liberationists, Wes, we're the Love Children! We believe that intimate acts like sex should be saved for someone you love! I have no problem with slavery—I have a problem with people who have sex with their slaves instead of their lovers then act like it doesn't count!"

"That is ridiculous," the other boy snapped. "It's not sex, it's mounting! And it *doesn't* count, Blaine! Since when is a pleasure toy cheating on your lover?"

"Since when do sex toys breathe?" Mr. Blaine shot back, looking rather sassy. He sort of reminded Dave of Master Kurt at that moment, standing there with his pink sunglasses on and a hand on his hip.

Dave really wished Master Kurt was there.

"Oh, will you just hush already? It's cold out here and I want to mount this slave while I still can, before winter whips my interest away! Mount it or don't mount it—I don't care. But shush your whining. I have things to do."

"Please," Dave whispered, the words almost a moan as he felt the boy's cock pressing between his spread cheeks, the tip nudging into his anus with a painful burning sensation. "Pleeease, my Master will be upset…"

"Shut up, slave."

Dave had never felt so cold and alone.

"Pleeease," he said again, needing to protest verbally even if he could do nothing physically to protect his Master's possession. "Please don't do this to me. Pleeeease." His heart was pounding, blood rushing madly, making him feel sick and light headed, and the bitter weather was making him shake. At least, he thought it was the weather making him shake. Why, why, why had he been so foolish? "Please don't violate my Master's property. Pleeeease." A tear ran down his cheek, a burning coldness against his skin.

"Oh God," the little boy whispered, tugging off his pink glasses and staring at David with troubled eyes. "Wes, it doesn't want this. This is wrong. It… it's different than using a whip or a paddle on it! Even if it is just a slave, it's never 'just a mounting'! There's something inside us that makes this different than other things you can do to someone." His voice caught. "I *know*, Wes, from experience! You know what happened with me and my step-dad. Please stop this. I can't stand to watch it. I'm a member of the Rape, Abuse, and Incest National Network! A member of RAINN can't just stand here and watch while you do this!"

Mr. Wes just shoved harder into Dave and the slave couldn't keep himself from crying out as the sharp pain cut through his ass. It wasn't anywhere as terrible as the pain in his heart, though.

Why had he gotten himself into this? Master was going to be so disgusted with him.

"RAINN helps *people*, Blaine," Mr. Wes replied in a tight voice as his hips thrust, moving vigorously inside Dave, in and out, in and out, faster and faster. "It… is…" He gave a soft moan. "It is just a slave, Blaine! You need to stop thinking…" Thrust. "…Of it…" Thrust. "…As…" Thrust. "…A person!" Thrust.

"It may not be a person," Mr. Blaine replied, voice growing louder, "but it's still crying!"

Dave blinked. He was crying? He was, wasn't he? That one tear had started a flood. No wonder his face felt like ice.

The pain between his legs was a blazing thing now, and Dave couldn't take it anymore. It was one thing when it was his Master, or someone Master had offered him to. That was a gift, being allowed to serve his Master. This was a violation of his Master's property. The pain that was easily tolerable during even the roughest mountings by Master seemed to shoot through his body now, like lightening striking over and over in his hole, thunder erupting in his head as the pain broke the speed of sound.

Dave felt weak and helpless, wanting desperately to fight for his Master's honor, but unable. It was not his place as a slave to fight. He had chosen to walk away from his Master's side and that, in a way, had *been* him choosing to be mounted like this. Another sob escaped him. His pride had gotten him here. Why, why, why hadn't he called Master to pick him up, like a good slave would? His Master was his safety. The leads and shackles slaves wore were not just to keep them in check. They kept them safe at their Masters' sides.

"I'm sorry, Master!" Dave yelled out suddenly, unable to hold it in anymore as his shoulders began to shake, sobs coming one right after the other. "Forgive me, Maaaster! I'm so sorry sorry sorry sorry soooorry…" He lifted his head and dropped it back down onto the car's roof with a loud bang. The pain, so different from that in his ass, actually felt good, so he did it again. And again. And again. "I'm sooooo sorry, Master!"

"That's it," the little boy shouted, and there was a sudden pressure on his head as Mr. Blaine caught it in his hands, forcing Dave to abandon his strikes against the car. "Stop it, Wes! I MEAN IT! This…" He let out a sound that almost sounded like a sob and Dave shifted his eyes to peer blearily at him. Little pink glasses boy was wiping at his eyes with one hand. Dave wondered idly why. Funny pink glasses little boy.

"This feels way too close to home for comfort, Wes! Stop it NOW!"

Dave giggled a little hysterically at the words, though tears were still running down his face. Stupid pink little boy with glasses. Didn't he know it was waaaaay too late?

The boy behind him suddenly grunted and Dave felt a sticky wetness filling him.

It was too much and Dave's stomach contracted, vomit burning up his throat and onto the arms holding his head. Uh-oh. Dave really hoped that little boy with pink glasses didn't have a gun or anything 'cause then slave Dave might just be dead and Master wouldn't like that very much.

"Oh my God!" Little boy shouted, pulling back in disgust. "Good job, Wes! Thank you so much! Once again your plans have come down to total catastrophe!"

Cat ass trophy? What did that mean? Why would a cat's ass win a trophy? Maybe he would ask Master Kurt. Master Kurt was really smart, he would know. Or the retarded Brittany girl that Azimio had sex with. She had once spent three hours telling him about her cat. And Azimio said she had a loose pussy. Hahahaha. He was so funny.

"Dammit, slave!" The boy behind him muttered, pulling out of Dave suddenly, and the feeling of the thick member slipping out was enough to jerk Dave back to his senses, not that he really wanted to be jerked back.

Mr. Wes made a disgusted face as he looked at Mr. Blaine's vomit covered arms, then he grabbed the torn shirt hanging around Dave's chest and used it to wipe the puke off the smaller boy then, with an angry look on his face, rubbed it across Dave's face, the sticky mess filling his mouth and getting in his eyes.

Dave just stood there as he did it, mind sluggish and numb.

"Come on," Mr. Wes said sharply, shoving Dave away from the car. It wasn't a very hard shove but Dave could barely handle breathing at the moment, much less worry about his balance. He went straight to the ground, the rough concrete of the streets scraping his buttocks and the sudden movement, combined with the vomit filling his mouth, making Dave's stomach turn again. He tried to bend to the side but wasn't fast enough, just managing to puke onto his own groin.

"Dammit, Wes!" the little boy muttered, coming down to squat in front of Dave. Dave flinched back and whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut in fear. The boy was out of vomit-range, but was still way too close in Dave's panicked mind. Had he changed his mind? Was Dave going to be mounted again? Would it be his mouth this time? Dave was sure he wouldn't be able to keep himself from barfing and the thought of maybe choking to death on his own vomit with some stranger's cock down his throat was terrifying.

"What's your name?" The boy's voice was soft and gentle—not unlike Master's—and Dave very slowly opened his eyes, blinking rapidly as he tried to ease the sting of the vomit on his lashes.

What was his name? Slaves had no names. What they were called was their Master's pleasure. "Master may call this slave what he wishes," Dave said, his voice a soft, submissive whisper, his body shaking a little as he stared at the boy.

Mr. Blaine looked at him strangely, almost like he… felt sorry for him? Why should he feel sorry for him? Dave had put himself in this position. He had gotten nothing he hadn't deserved.

"No, what are *you* called?"

The boy wanted to know… Oh, he wanted to know who Dave belonged to, maybe? His registration? For some reason it was hard to remember. It was… D… something… D…

"Um… I'm D…" Yes, that was right… "D twelve…" D12 what? There was more than just D12. Dave gave a choked laugh, then began to cough as he accidentally sucked vomit down his throat. He couldn't remember who he was.

The boy took a deep breath, glancing around nervously before leaning in a little closer, carefully staying clear of all the vomit. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. "I just wanted to say… I'm sorry."

Fear shot through Dave. He was sorry? What was he going to do to Dave that was so terrible that he, a child of the elite, would say he was sorry to a slave?

Dave let out a sob. "I didn't mean to do it, Sir! I'm sorry I soiled you… Please, please, please, know the slave is so sorry it soiled you…"

"Huh? What? I know you didn't mean to—"

Mr. Wes' voice interrupted whatever he had been about to say. "Blaine, come ON! It's freezing out here!" The little boy glanced back at Dave one last time, licking his lips nervously, then stood and moved toward his friend.

A huge rush of relief flowed through Dave. He wasn't going to be mounted again. He was safe. Safe. Safe.

The car engine started and Dave puked again, at least managing to get off to the side this time. A little ended up running down his shoulder, but most of it made it onto the ground. And finally, finally, finally Dave's nightmare sped off down the street.

Dave wasn't sure how long he sat there afterward, jeans around his ankles, semen dripping out of his ass onto the cement, his ripped shirt covered in vomit, hanging off him like a drunk hobo's vest.

The wind blew, stirring up a whirl of colorful leaves. Dave didn't move. The sun inched down the horizon. Dave didn't move. The night grew colder, his shallow breaths becoming visible on the air before him in white puffs. Dave sniffed, then winced at the acrid stench of vomit.

He couldn't sit there forever, as much as he wanted to. He was a slave. These things… they happened. Had happened before and would happen again, because he was just that much of a fool. He needed to get to his Master. Needed to beg Master's forgiveness. Needed to feel Master's touch.

The thought gave him strength and he forced himself to climb to his feet, teetering almost drunkenly as he pulled his boxers and jeans back up. His letterman was lying on the ground a few feet away, the only piece of clothing he had that wasn't covered in puke.

He should just leave it there. Dave felt nothing but hatred for it now. That was what had gotten him here. Dressing like a freeman, spending time with freemen, being a proud bastard in general. Wearing that jacket had made him forget what he was. All he wanted right now was to put on his slave shorts and chain himself to Master's bed. He would be safe there. No one would hurt him there. There he was Master's and Master would protect him.

Dave started to turn away, damn that jacket to hell, but something caught his eye. There was a leaf, sticking out of the pocket. It was bright orange like a pumpkin. The pumpkin he had been planning to get for Master. To please Master. Like the leaves he had collected would please Master, with their bright colors and extraordinary shapes. He had picked them up for Master, knowing Master would be pleased. He couldn't leave them.

Dave bent down slowly, hefting the jacket off the ground. All he wanted was to please his Master. That was all he had ever wanted. Dave wrapped the coat around his shoulders, letting out a little sob, and swore to himself that he would never, ever be so proud again.

o o o

Why, why, *why* was he such a proud bastard?

Dave stared steadily at Mr. Azimio, trying to force down the sick feeling in his gut. There was still a chance. A chance that Mr. Azimio would think about his words and agree to wait, to ask Master for permission instead of taking Dave like the whore he felt like for ever leaving his Master's side.

Mr. Azimio stared back at him for a moment, then his brow furrowed and his hands dropped away, the boy taking a step back.

Dave choked back a sob of relief. He shouldn't let his hopes up. Mr. Azimio could still mount him. But surely the way he was backing up was a good sign?

"I… Dude… What are you talking about? What can't you stop me from doing?"

Dave blinked at the confusion in the boy's voice. What…? "From… from mounting me, Mr. Azimio?"

"Man, do *not* call me Mr. Azimio, D! It's Azimio! Just Azimio! I'd say that 'Mr. Azimio' is my dad, except his name is Charles! What the hell? And what does that mean, mounting you? You think I'm gonna put your head on the fucking wall?"

"You… you said you wanted to… be personal with me…" Dave trailed off at the look growing on Azimio's face. It wasn't a pretty look. Dave wasn't sure what kind of look it was, but it definitely wasn't pretty.

"Personal… mount… Oh my fuckin' GOD! You thought I wanted to NAIL YOU? Are you crazy? Oh my… wait, why the fuck couldn't you stop me? You're just as big as me, dude!"

Oh, God, Azimio *hadn't* been talking about mounting him! Dave knew he should probably be embarrassed as hell by his assumption—a freeman would definitely be embarrassed—but he was too busy feeling an almost ecstatic relief. It was rushing through him like a high. Azimio wasn't going to mount him. He was safe. Safe. His pride hadn't destroyed him again.

"S-slaves aren't actually allowed to… stop… a freeman from… you know." Now that he realized that Azimio *hadn't* been planning to jump he, he realized that he better be a bit more tactful. "But, um, I would appreciate it if you didn't spread that around…" He paused, his just enough of his wretched pride having returned to feel a little embarrassed. "For obvious reasons. I mean… Not the kind of thing I want every dude at this school to know. Especially since I've put half their heads in toilets."

Azimio stared at him in disbelief. "Dave… Man… Has that… happened to you?"

Dave opened his mouth then shut it again, shifting uncomfortably. Finally he muttered, "I'm not sure you want me to answer that question, 'Z."

Azimio visibly flinched and Dave felt a little guilty. He really hadn't meant to put that horrified look on his friend's—on *Azimio's face. Not friend. Just Azimio.

"Dude, I was so not talking about that! I mean, actually, I sort of was, but not like that." He let out a whoosh of air, rubbing at his eyes and letting out a little moan. "This is so not a conversation I ever wanted to have. But what I wanted to talk about… with the Hummel thing." He turned his head, studying the wall like it might hold some answers. "?"

Dave blinked, not having quite caught that. "Dude… you think you could repeat that at, like, slower than the speed of Roadrunner?" 'Z had been the one to introduce Dave to 'The Looney Toones.' And to most television, outside of Audrey Hepburn musicals, in general.

Azimio shot him an annoyed look then sighed, sounding defeated. "Okay, okay. I was just wondering if he… does stuff to you that you're not… you know, cool with?" He sounded like he'd rather be talking about prostate exams with his grandma than this. "And, if so, do you want me to kick his ass? Repeatedly? And with great force? And we're talking Wile E. Coyote with an ACME cannonball level force here."

Dave's lip twitched in amusement. "So you mean with failed force? Since all Wile E does is blow his own ass up?"

An irritated sigh came from Azimio. "Look, as much as I *do not* want to sound like this is a serious conversation, bro, I am being real. I did my Googling 'bout slave laws and shit and it said that a master can, well, pretty much do anything with you that they want. And it was one thing to think you were workin' in the Home Depot. The homo depot… maybe a different story."

Oh goody, Azimio had been on that electronic spiderweb or whatever again. Seriously, the second he could read more than three words an hour Dave was gonna get on that thing and figure out what had 'Z so addicted. All the guy ever did was surf those damn CSI forums these days.

Dave sighed and reached out, patting Azimio on—no, patting *his friend* on the shoulder. Fuck it being prideful and wrong. 'Z obviously cared about him as much as any of Dave's slave friends did. They could at least play at it a little longer, even if it was kind of fucked up. "'Z… thanks man. But… I'm cool. I… I'm really no different than I was, okay? Only you didn't know before. I like my life. And I love my Master." He held up a hand as Azimio's eyes widened, laughing a little. "Not in a boyfriend way, man. Slaves… we don't do that kind of shit. We don't get to have those, uh, special relationships like freemen do. But I wouldn't want anyone else to be my Master. So… Maybe you and I… maybe we can just, I don't know, try and go back to how it was? Forget this ever happened?" His voice came out hopeful, maybe a little *too* hopeful. But, God, it would make him happy if he and Azimio could just be boys again.

Dave took a steadying breath, nerves on edge as his friend stared back at him for a long moment. Please, please, please…

A smile broke across 'Z's face. "You know what, D? I think *that* is a mighty fine idea! Maybe the best damn idea I've heard all day!" He swung an arm across Dave's shoulder and held up his fist, grinning. "Brothas?"

Dave grinned back, lifting his own fist to punch lightly against the other boy's. "You know it."

A warm feeling filled his chest as Azimio laughed and they started out into the hall.

All Dave really needed was his Master. But having Azimio was nice, too.


	9. Ch 9: Big Words, Bigger Problems

****If you would like to read this on my livejournal instead of the evil ff net, you can find it at****

****pucktheperv [dot] livejournal [dot] com [slash] tag [slash] bornthisslave****

o o o****  
><strong>**

**Summary:**Everything is going well for Glee Club until a drop in the economy leaves one of their own in a desperate situation. The bank is foreclosing on Sam and he is about to be sent into a world of legal slavery - a trade that is entirely foreign to everyone except the highest of society. The situation seems helpless until Kurt comes forward with a secret that may save Sam's life-but it may also lose Kurt his friends when they find out that one of their own is, in fact, a slavemaster. And his slave is no other than Dave Karofsky.

**Author's Notes:** Thank you, all ye who review! Your feedback gives me orgasms! Now, for two of my favorite thing: sex and politics!

o o o

**Chapter 9: Big Words, Bigger Problems  
><strong>

o o o

It was obvious that Master was very, very nervous. Every time Master Kurt shoved into Dave He would glance at the clock on the bedside table with its big, red numbers, and give a little sigh of relief. Dave needed to distract Him. Master needed to relax—there was no chance of them being caught. Miss Mercedes and Mr. Sam weren't supposed to be there for almost two hours and, considering how ferociously his Master was rutting into His slave's body, it wasn't going to take anywhere *near* that long. All that tension was completely unnecessary.

No worries, though. Dave could make Him relax. He knew all of Master's favorite little places, from years of observation and experimentation. He knew exactly how to make Master moan and groan and whimper and sigh and even scream. Because *nothing* made Dave happier than to see his beautiful Master throw back his head and scream. Though it was a bit of a trap, since just knowing how much pleasure Master was getting from His slave excited Dave in a way that wasn't allowed. And since the scream usually came when Master was at the end, Dave would be left with a notable discomfort right when he should be focusing on soothing and cuddling his Master. But it was definitely worth it to see Master's sleepy eyes filled with satisfaction, semen dripping down the stem of His cock.

He would have to make sure he showed Mr. Sam how to make Master scream. He hoped the slave-to-be could actually do it the way Dave could. Dave's astonishingly large hands had been one of the reasons Trainer Karofsky had picked Dave for pleasure work, and why he had won so many awards. But if Sam couldn't do it like Dave did, Dave would help him find another way. Master deserved his pleasure.

For some reason Dave's thoughts were making the uncomfortable pressure in his groin lessen, which should have been a blessing but really just made him feel like pouting a little as images of enormous lips and sun kissed abs flashed through his mind. What was wrong with him? He needed to focus on Master!

Dave was glad Master had finally agreed to mount him before Miss Mercedes arrived, despite His obvious fear of getting caught. To be truthful, Dave had used his formidable training in pleasure to, well, sort of manipulate Him into it—but only because Master needed badly to relax! And He couldn't have been too set against it, at least sub-consciously, because Dave had easily lured his Master into a massage, his big hands kneading at tense shoulders, fingers all wet with warm oil and smelling of jasmine. He had run a big finger down, down, down Master's spine to brush across His crack, then used his hands to begin to massage pale thighs, very careful to make his frequent brushes against Master's inner thighs seem accidental. Not that any touch Dave made during pleasure service was accidental. He had poured more oil onto his hands then and let it 'accidentally' drip from his fingers to land on the sensitive skin of Master's scrotum.

Things had progressed quickly from there as his already aroused Master had climbed up off the bed, glared beratingly at His slave, and then practically tore off the school clothes Dave had been wearing. There had been no time lost then as Master Kurt shoved His slave onto the bed, yanked his legs up, and used two fingers to pry his anus apart as He dumped about half the contents of the expensive bottle of massage oil into Dave's ass.

Dave had been very pleased. Master had been much too stressed by His unspoken fear of Miss Mercedes' scorn, damn her and her freewoman thinking, and this would help Him relax. Miss Mercedes could really be a bitch sometimes.

And Dave totally looked forward to his punishment for thinking such things.

The bitch.

Master's body had been so tense as He drove them home from school that Dave had been afraid a bump in the road might break Him in half. And it had gotten no better once they'd gotten down to Master's room. He'd just thrown His bag aside and begun to pace, the minutes ticking away painfully slow, especially since Mr. Sam and Miss Mercedes were not due for three hours.

Master looked much, much better now, Dave's legs thrown lightly over His narrow shoulders, face flushed and warm as He slid his cock in and out of Dave's hole.

Though he was usually very careful not to accidentally bite himself during a mounting, Dave allowed himself to nip lightly at the inside of his own cheek as he blinked away the small beads of sweat that were running down his forehead into his eyes. His chastity device was bothering him more than usual, the fierceness of Master's thrusting sending shivers through Dave's body as Master's cock pressed against that place inside him that he thought of as his 'terrible pleasure' spot. It was the same place that the handlers at Master's estate 'milked' every month so that his chastity device wouldn't cause swelling inside his body or in his testicles. And, like during his monthly milking, the kneading pressure was making the tip of Dave's cock leak with fluids as it tried and failed to rise within its restraint.

Dave knew this was a good thing—if those fluids didn't come out, well, he wasn't sure what exactly happened, but he knew that it was not healthy for a male. This was just another form of milking. It would be one less worry for his handlers. It was obviously much more intense like this, however, and what had started out mildly pleasurable had quickly turned excruciating. Yes, that was a good word for it, a better word than Dave had ever had before for this feeling. That Word A Day calendar was coming in handy.

Honestly, it sort of made Dave want to cry, not out of pain or fear or sadness, but just out of pure frustration. He needed to push it from his mind, however. This sort of distraction was inappropriate for a slave during a mounting—hell, it was another reason that they wore chastity devices! To *prevent* this sort of distraction!

It was very frustrating, though. Dave didn't usually wish they had simply removed his balls when they first dropped, but, with this feeling shooting through his body and no one to blame but what was between his legs, he was about ready to grab them and rip them off. The metal cock guard would probably prevent him from doing, however. Besides, Master would likely be unhappy to have his 400 thread count sheets stained with the blood from His slave's testicles.

Dave took a deep breath, carefully concealing his… discomfort… from his Master, doing a pretty good job in his opinion considering that the ache was bad enough that he was running through the Word A Day calendar in his mind looking for something worse than 'excruciating.' But Dave had managed to keep his need silent before and he could do it again. He was a pleasure slave. He was trained for this. Of course, when he'd been trained by Master Karofsky, his balls hadn't actually dropped all the way yet. But whatever. He was a good slave. He would manage.

Master Kurt looked amazingly beautiful with his face all screwed up in pleasure and the last thing Dave wanted to do was distract Master from that kind of happiness with his own discomfort. Excruciating discomfort. Agoning discomfort. No, not agoning—*agonizing*. That was a good one. Adject-adjock—uh… describing word. Four syllables. Definition, very painful. January 13th. It had been a Tuesday. His agonizing discomfort. Severing discomfort. No, severing was what he'd been thinking about doing to his balls. *Severe* discomfort. A describing word that didn't have an 'ing' ending. Two syllables. Definition, extreme. March… March 2nd? 3rd? Somewhere in there.

Dave was getting really good with these words. Master would be proud.

Damn, this was frustrating.

"Oh, God, yeeeees," his Master moaned and, despite his insert-fancy-synonym-for-ouchy discomfort, Dave couldn't help but smile widely at the joyous sound of Master Kurt's cries.

Master met his eyes then, those icy blue orbs locking on Dave, and his smile grew even bigger as he reached up and around his own thigh to run one of the big hands his Trainer had loved so much down Master's side, closing it on one of His buttocks, big fingers digging lightly into the soft, malleable flesh of His bottom.

Master's back arched and He flung back His head, eyes squeezing shut as He made little whimpering noises. It had scared Dave the first time he'd heard Master whimper like that. When Dave was very, very small he had made those sort of whimpers when the handler with the very large penis would enter him and leave little rips inside him that bled. The whimpers usually came with tears, too, and sometimes he would shake even though he wasn't cold. And the memory… there was always a quick rush of fear with it. Now that Dave was grown up he couldn't quite remember *why* he had made those noises and felt funny things. Maybe because the blood got on the bedding, making him a Very Bad Slave for soiling Master's linens? That was reason enough for a little slave to cry. He was only maybe four, so having Master be disappointed in him had probably made him very sad. Maybe even sad enough to whimper and cry and shake. And it *was* scary to disappoint your Master, so that could be why when he thought about it he got kind of scared for no reason at all. Dave really wasn't sure. It wasn't as if it was a particularly *bad* memory in itself—it was just a normal mounting. He had been mounted like that probably thousands of times since. But it was a memory linked to unpleasant feelings and, the first time Master Kurt had whimpered like that, Dave had to hold a hand over his mouth to keep from being sick, thinking he had somehow made his Master feel sad and scared like he'd felt when he was a little slave, for whatever reason. But he had quickly learned that, in this case, it was a good sound. A very good sound.

Master's thrusts continued at a rapid pace, hardly pulling out at all before He shoved back in. Dave reached around his leg with his free hand to set it on Master's other buttock, squeezing them simultaneously then beginning to knead each one separately, squeezing and prodding lightly, letting the tips of his fingers just barely brush into Master's crack. His big hands covered all of Master's round little bottom.

Master Kurt found the chest hair He had not yet bothered to wax off of Dave with His long, thin fingers and tugged at the dark little curls. A tiny moan escaped Dave as a strange combination of intense pleasure and excruciating, agonizing discomfort shot through his groin, and he quickly clamped his jaw, practically swallowing his tongue.

Bad slave! He was being a *very* bad slave today! Silence! He needed to be silent! No disturbing Master! What was wrong with him? He was a better slave than this! No wonder Master wanted something new if Dave couldn't even be better than this, totally distracted from his service, busy thinking up words to describe the feeling in his penis instead of focusing on Master! What was he, a man? No! He was a slave! Men thought with their dicks, not slaves, and Dave was better than this!

Dave took a steadying breath and focused hard on his Master, using all his skills of observation to decide how to best pleasure Him next.

Master Kurt's eyes were still locked on his, a little glazed. They reminded Dave of a cool, crisp winter day. He had a silly grin on His face, so open and honest. The snotty diva was gone, leaving behind the sweet boy. All of His guards were down and He looked gorgeous. Dave simultaneously squeezed Master's buttocks and flexed his own pectorals, knowing the rising muscle in his chest would excite Him.

Master did have quite the thing for his chest.

Master Kurt's eyes grew enormous at the motion and he rewarded Dave with a lovely moan before dropping His head down to place a gentle kiss on Dave's lips.

Master's lips were soft, the tiniest hint of sweat leaving a mildly salty taste behind. It reminded Dave of the taste of Master's cock in his mouth, and his dick tried once more to rise.

It was valiant effort, though the cock cage won again. His dick was apparently quite the fighter, though, never surrendering. Dave really needed to invest in a white flag for the thing, dammit. It needed to fucking give up already!

Master's nose bumped Dave's as He pulled away, one of His soft hands running gently along the curve of Dave's jawline. A thumb brushed across Dave's lips, Master using the other hand to gently massage His slave's pec.

It was all so glorious. His Master was so glorious.

"Oh, David," his Master said, words a whispered moan. "I love—"

Dave winced as sharp nails suddenly dug into his chest, and whatever act of pleasure Master had been about to declare He loved was lost as His face turned pale and He seemed to shut down in an instant. Dave made a soft sound of confusion as Master made a point of pulling away, not quite removing his penis all the way from Dave's body, but shoving the slave's legs off His shoulders roughly as he leaned His upper body back, a strange, almost frightened look on His face.

Dave didn't have much time to analyze it, however, too busy grabbing his own legs to keep himself from toppling over and crashing down on his Master, or tipping to the side and pulling Master's cock all the way out of his body—which would be just as bad as knocking Him over. Moving in a way that caused your aroused Master to slip out of you was a major faux pas of slave etiquette. A faux pas worth a beating, at least. After catching his balance he released his legs, using his thigh muscles to keep them up in the air, above Master's shoulders, so that Master could continue to mount him. He wasn't sure why Master no longer wanted to support Dave's legs, but if He wished for Dave to use his leg muscles to hold them up, then he wouldn't violate the spirit of his Master's silent order by using the strength of his arms rather than going to the extra effort of working his back and thighs. He would keep his arms free to pleasure Master in other ways.

Master Kurt, however, wasn't moving. Dave could feel the tip of his Master inside of him, and Master's hips were still brushing his buttocks so at least an inch had to be inside him, his Master's cock being around five inches or so when hard. He hadn't let Him slip out. Why wasn't He continuing? Was He upset with Dave? What had he done?

Oh, God, had He recognized Dave's physical responses? Was He upset that His slave couldn't control himself? Was He disappointed in his service?

Dave could barely keep himself from crying when he felt Master pull completely out of his hole. No wonder his Master wanted a slave like Mr. Sam. He was pitiful! Eight years of pleasure training and he couldn't control his own desires? He watched woefully as Master turned and strode off, disappearing into the bathroom.

It was just shameful.

Dave took a deep breath and firmly locked his jaw, turning all his focus to remaining in the mounting position that Master had placed him in. He would be a good slave, keeping his legs wide spread and balanced in the air, despite the fact that the muscles in his lower back and thighs were already beginning to protest. He then slid two of his big fingers carefully inside himself. Dave would remain ready for mounting. If Master chose to return, He could take up immediately where He left off. If not, Dave would remain in this position until he was told otherwise. He knew from his training experiences that the small aches would become an intense burning pain within the hour, but he felt that would be a very fitting punishment for him disturbing Master Kurt's pleasure.

There was some banging in the bathroom and Dave bit his lip, wondering if Master was preparing to take a bath. After a moment, however, Master Kurt appeared in the doorway, His cock still very much erect, bouncing slightly as He walked. He didn't look angry, just sort of… disturbed maybe? Dave could understand that. The amount of pre-cum leaking from his penis' head was disturbing him, too. He would have to wash himself very carefully.

Master must have seen the shame in Dave's eyes as he climbed back onto the bed, positioning Himself between Dave's spread legs, because He gave him a tight smile, reaching out to ruffle his hair in a familiar gesture. "There's a good boy."

The tension in Dave's chest eased, an overwhelming sense of relief taking over. His Master couldn't be too angry if He was calling His slave a good boy.

Master Kurt reached toward Dave, something dangling from His hand. Dave realized, just before it dropped down to cover his face, that it was a washcloth, and the last of his nerves disappeared, despite the fact that he was effectively blinded.

Master had just been upset that His slave had distracted Him from whatever fantasy He was playing out in His mind. He probably hadn't noticed Dave's lust at all. And Master Kurt wouldn't be angry at Dave for ruining His fantasy. Most masters would have punished him for being a distraction, for stealing their attention when he should have been unobtrusive, but Dave's Master was kind-hearted and seldom punished Dave for things that were just symptoms of his presence rather than anything he physically did.

Dave smiled beneath the cloth as he felt Master push His slave's hand aside and replace Dave's fingers with His cock, sliding easily into his hole. The feeling was filling, and very pleasurable. By now Dave was well stretched, and there was little rubbing due to the amount of oil Master had dumped into him. Master was thrusting more slowly than before, and not quite as deeply, so, while Dave still felt the occasional brush to that spot, it was no longer a constant pounding and the tip of his cock had stopped leaking. It was a nice sensation now, really.

This was nice, all of it. Familiar and comfortable. Dave wished he could see Master's face through the cloth covering his eyes—Master was really so lovely—but he would be grateful for what he got. Just the feeling of Master inside him was good enough. Dave loved how close this made him feel to Master Kurt. It made him proud that he could please his Master in a way no other man could.

Wait. That hadn't sounded right. Dave wasn't a man—a fact the the metal wrapped around his genitals attested to. And *any* man could please his Master, though Master certainly deserved the *best*. Dave was just proud that he could serve Master as His willing mount. He was proud that he could please Master Kurt here and now, proud that Master had no interest in using any other slave for this sort of pleasure. It made him feel special. He was his Master's special toy.

Master moaned above him and Dave smiled broadly, feeling free to express whatever emotion he wanted under the safety of the washcloth hiding his face. He hoped his Master was having a very good fantasy. About a beautiful young man. Strong and well-built, not chubby and sweaty like Dave. With… with tan skin! And nice abs. And big, beautiful lips—

Dave's happiness switched off like a light at the thought, a shiver of fear much worse than some stupid memory from when he was a little slave rising up inside him.

He may have been Master's special toy, but he bet Master wouldn't have to cover up Mr. Sam's perfect face.

o o o

"Are they here yet?" Kurt asked worriedly, eyes locked on the door. His voice came out a little higher than usual, which meant it was pretty damn high considering that, on a good day, he sort of sounded like the bastard child of the Fat Lady singing and a Shakespearian castrati. If castrati could have children, that is.

"No, Master," Dave said calmly as it pulled up its slave shorts. "They are not here yet, Master." Kurt heard a hint of amusement in its voice, which he supposed he deserved considering that he had asked the same question one minute, forty seconds ago. And three minutes, two seconds before that. And six minutes, fifteen seconds before *that.*

"Why aren't they here?" Kurt whined, perfectly aware that he sounded like a ten year old girl whose mom had just told her she couldn't have the new Justin Bieber album.

Dave turned, adjusting itself in its tiny black shorts to look slightly less obscene. You could still probably sketch an image of its balls without it taking off its pants, the shape was so defined—or could if it wasn't wearing that hunk of metal around its cock. It was weird, that chastity device thing, and Kurt preferred not to think about. It would drive Kurt *mad* to have that thing strapped on him, but David wasn't a man so maybe it didn't bother it. Kurt wasn't even sure how, exactly, it worked. Or what it was really supposed to do. Was just the feeling of having a heavy piece of metal attached to your genitals enough of a turn off to make sex impossible? Kurt wasn't sure and, curious as he was, had never gotten up the nerve to ask. Though he spent more time than was probably healthy wondering how it worked, how it felt, and if Born-slaves even *got* aroused like freemen did. They must get aroused in some way, because they bred them… God, why was he thinking about this *again,* dammit? Of course, maybe if Dave didn't spend so much time wandering around in those itsy bitsy shorts then the issue would be a little more out of sight, out of mind.

Kurt supposed that he could buy it slightly less revealing slave wear, but the last hints of summer would soon be gone and he wanted to keep it in those little spandex shorts as long as possible. Though masters didn't worry overly much about keeping their slaves warm, more coverage would be necessary soon to keep the harsh winter weather from freezing Dave's bits off. Especially with all that metal on them. Of course, he only had Dave wear them at all because they were inexpensive and easy to clean. Obviously. The fact that they defined its glutes like they'd been dipped in dark chocolate was just a coincidental bonus.

Dave turned, bending down to pick up the washcloth it had dropped on the floor, its butt and thigh muscles flexing.

God, Kurt's slave was *way* too attractive sometimes. In fact, Kurt was so attracted to it at times that he wondered if there was something mentally wrong with him. Maybe he should see a therapist. No, he just needed to find himself a boyfriend or, before he knew it, he'd be a sixty year old virgin living in a little house on the prairie with his pleasure slave, having never known the touch of a man.

Not that Kurt was really *comfortable* with the idea of sex. Mounting a slave was one thing. All you had to do was climb on and it just came sort of naturally. It didn't matter what you did or how well you did it. But an actual boy… What if Kurt was a bad kisser? What if his boyfriend wanted to do something that Kurt wasn't comfortable doing? Dave would never pressure Kurt for anything. Of course, Dave was a slave, and slaves didn't want the same things people did. Kurt needed a *boyfriend.* But what if his boyfriend wanted to do something and Kurt didn't know *how*?

He supposed he could ask Dave about the techniques of certain things, but did freemen even have sex the same way you mounted a slave? Kurt wasn't sure. They had been about twelve the first time he had mounted Dave, bodies just developing, and Dave had coaxed him through the process with tender patience, not making a single joke or showing even a hint of amusement at its Master's expense as Kurt had fumbled through the mounting. It had been… amazing. And easy, no embarrassment, no uncomfortable moments. Just pleasure. Wonderful pleasure. Amazing pleasure. Awesome pleasure. Dave was just so amazing at anything it did…

Okay, he *really* needed to stop thinking about his slave like it was a person. Of *course* Dave was good in bed. It had eight years of *pleasure* training! But he needed more than just a slave in his life.

And Kurt *did* want more from his sex life than just Master/slave mountings. The idea of a boyfriend was just sort of nerve-wracking, though. What if there was some major difference between what you did when mounting a slave and what freemen did and Kurt messed it up? Would they laugh at him? Tell everyone what a sad little virgin he was? Make jokes about his bedroom skills? There were just so many 'what ifs' when it came to dating.

All the worrying was probably moot, however, considering that every guy he knew was straight as Hugh Hefner on a caseload of Viagra.

"Do you think they're lost? I bet they're lost."

Dave looked up at him, setting a finger gently to its lips in the universal sign for permission to speak freely.

"Speak."

"I don't think Mercedes would get lost coming to your house, Sir. They're only ten minutes late, Master." It gave a soft chuckle. "They're probably stuck at the railroad crossing. Or maybe at Weight Watchers. I heard Mr. Sam say something after practice about saying goodbye to all his friends there. I dunno why he's in Weight Watchers, though. Something about a Dorito addiction." A soft smile. "I think you can relax—I don't think Miss Mercedes will miss her one chance to see an elite mall."

Kurt sighed and flopped down onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling. "You're right." He reached over to the bedside table, grabbing one of the fancy, gold inscribed tickets and holding it up to the light. "It's going to be… interesting, taking commoners to a class-restricted mall. I hope people don't think they're Ciceros."

Dave shook its head. "If they were Ciceros, no elite would have been willing to give them a ticket."

"True," Kurt said with a little sigh. "Those new money assholes have found out enough about out society by purchasing rebel Born-slaves for small bucks at the pound and milking them for knowledge about *our* lifestyle! I honestly can't believe the Senate passed that amendment allowing common people to own slaves. That's been an elite right for thousands of years! We're descended from the 100 Families of Rome, for heaven's sake! And all of a sudden anyone with the money to afford a Slaver's License can buy slaves?

"I thought you were proud of your common ancestry, Master," Dave said in an overly innocent tone, making it obvious that it was just teasing Kurt. That didn't stop Kurt from reaching out and tossing a bottle of Purple Power nail polish at it. It faked a whimper as it bounced off its big chest, sticking out its lower lip in a rather adorable pout.

"I *am* proud of my common heritage, slave David," Kurt said in a snippy tone, though he was really rather amused at Dave's silliness. "You know that." And he was. He was *glad* he could play the commoner. Being an elite youth basically meant your whole life was already decided—what you would do, who you would hang our with, what you would become… All mapped out from birth. Kurt didn't want to grow up to run the family estate or serve in the family seat on the Elite Senate or handle his family's social obligations to the commoners who lived in the counties under their jurisdiction. He had common dreams, *exciting* common dreams. To sing on Broadway, to star in a Hollywood film, to release an album. But he had to admit, though, it was nice to have elite connections, too. The best of both worlds.

Kurt's relatives, the House of Claudia, was one of the oldest families of ancient elite society who had immigrated to the New World. It had *two* seats in the Elite Senate and received a small yearly tax from every commoner living West of Columbus and North of Lima, therefore assuring that the family would never have to work.

Kurt knew that his father thought it highly unfair that the elite received taxes from the common people. Though right now anti-slavery was their cover story, Kurt knew this was why the commoners *really* hated the elite. But the truth was, most of the common people who were not native to the Americas had been brought over as slaves *by* the elite and had become common people when the elite granted them their freedom. Surely they owed the elites something for that.

Manumission, the act of releasing a slave to freedom and granting it citizenship, had been a common practice up until about three hundred years ago. After the elite scientist Charles Darwin had theorized that Born-slaves had become a separate species, _homo servus_, through rapid evolution, it became illegal. It had once been very common, however, for a Master to grant a particular slave freedom for its great loyalty or to free his slaves in his will. In fact, the term 'freeman,' which was now a euphemism for any free man, including the elite, came from the word 'freedman,' which had meant a slave freed by its master.

Manumission had been made illegal in the US and much of the Roman-European Republic based on scientific evidence pointing to a slave's innate need to serve, stating that it was unethical to free something that could not care for itself and needed to serve to be happy. Some of the more jealous commoners, however, thought of it as yet another way for the elite class to remain a distinct body that you had to be born into to be a part of. It was these bitter types who had finally forced the Equal Acquisition Amendment through a few years back, claiming all freemen should have the right to purchase and sell any legal commodity, including slaves. So now common men could finally own slaves. God help them all.

The Elite Senate *had* been able to keep the trade mostly 'in the family' by making the yearly fee required to obtain and keep a Slaver's License so enormous that few common people could even dream of it. But there *were* a few rich upstarts, common businessmen whose cut throat tactics had made them nearly as wealthy as the less-esteemed elite families, who could afford a license.

Unfortunately for these 'Ciceros,' as the elite called them after the famous plebeian Roman senator—or 'newlites,' as they called themselves—no elite trainer would ever sell to a common man. And unfortunately for the common people that these Ciceros were born from, the Ciceros had solved this problem in their usual cut throat business way—by encouraging poor, stupid people to take loans out on their own freedom and very quietly turning them into slaves, all the while protesting the elite slave market like it was some terrible evil to make themselves look like good guys and the elite look like devils to other common people.

On the other side of the fence were the hippie-type commoners like Mercedes who claimed that the Abolition of Manumission Decree had nothing to do with genetics or ethically caring for slaves and was just a way to keep the common people from growing so strong that they could overthrow the elite. Yes, the decree had been passed just as the Common Senate was being created and the two-to-one voting power of the elite man to the common man was made equal by the government. But that had *nothing* to do with the Abolition of Manumission—the Decree was based off of scientific evidence. But why should Kurt be surprised that there were commoners who thought some big political conspiracy was going on? These were the same people who had claimed President Obama, the first common born President *ever*, was the Anti-Christ, for God's sake!

Kurt thought that they were all just making themselves a nice home in Paranoia City, where the grass is green as money and the girls are petty.

"I just don't know that messing with social structures that have been around since before Caesar Augustis discovered the Americas is such a great idea." Kurt sighed. "It's not that one class is any better than the other. They're just too different to mix."

Dave, who had sunk down to its knees next to Kurt's bed, chin resting lightly on the edge with its hands held respectfully behind its back, gave a small nod. "Yes, Master, Your slave agrees, Sir. I didn't have much contact with the common class before I was give to You, Master, but Master Burt is a great man and I have met many good freemen at McKinley. They are just enterinsically different—"

"Intrinsically, pet," Kurt corrected lightly, ruffling its hair in praise. His slave was learning so quickly. His grandmother would probably be disgruntled that Kurt had taught its slave to speak like a well-educated freeman, but it was so smart that it deserved to learn.

"Thank you, Master. The classes are just intrinsically different to the point that they can't understand each other. They are different kinds of people. There is nothing wrong with that. The classes have been separate since Romulus founded Rome. Why should it change? Master Karofsky once told me that the last time the common people tried to mix with the elite, the Republic fell and became ruled by kings for a thousand years."

Kurt nodded shortly. "Yes, it became the Roman Empire. I love my common friends and I love my elite family… but they will never be able to get along." He sighed. "I know Mercedes is excited about going to such a fancy mall… Do you think we should rent a sedan seat? Being carried around on the shoulders large men with no shirts is *quite* a thrill… But I don't know how much she'll ultimately like being a commoner in a class-restricted setting. I get enough shit just because I choose to go to a common school. Mercedes is a diva—she is not going to like it if someone realizes what she is and treats her like a second-class citizen."

"Well, she *is* a second-class citizen, Master. But I think Miss Mercedes is enough of a bitch to take care of herself, Master Kurt—even among the elite youth." It smirked slightly and Kurt made an irritated sound, giving it a little smack to the face.

"Slave Dave, we *do not* call Miss Mercedes a bitch." He paused, lips turning up in amusement. "Even when she is. *I* am the bitch of this household, remember?"

"Yes, Master Kurt," it said, nodding seriously. "Would you like me to remind you that the next time you grant me said title during a mounting?"

Kurt let out a loud laugh, the giggles melting some of his tension away. "Ah, Dave. You can always make me smile, you big, dumb lug." He shook his head. "I guess I'm just nervous. Worrying too much. But trying to explain elite society to a common person is like trying to explain Ziggy Stardust to the Amish! Especially since she doesn't understand *any* of the politics *behind* the pretty face of the liberationist movement. When I go to those Students Against Slavery meetings, I don't know whether to laugh or cry! They honestly think these rich politicians coming up with the state slave scholarship bullshit and programs like 'Let Freedom Ring' give a damn about equality!"

Dave made a soft noise. "I am only a slave, but even I can see that all they care about is money and power."

"You would think Mercedes, with all her paranoia about elites making manumission illegal so that the common class wouldn't grow any larger, would care that these politicians are the same people who fought for the Equal Acquisition Amendment so they could have slaves! But no, she insists that the amendment was created just to make sure that everyone would have equal rights to own the same things and that slavery was *not* the real issue."

"What other things did the elites own that the common man could not?" Dave questioned, frowning. "The common people may not have had the money to own estates or ranches or whatever, but they were *allowed* to."

"Nothing, Dave. There was nothing elites could own that commoners couldn't *except* slaves. But it was still an *equal rights* amendment to even out the social gap between the elites and commoners. It was pretty sneaky if you ask me. The rich common politicians managed to make it legal for themselves to own slaves while still making your average, liberal commoner think they were 'fighting for human rights.'" Kurt made a face. "These new money Ciceros are worse than the damn Caesars who blew off their families' ancestral estates to start those horrible corporations like WalMart. Any for no other reason than to be so rich that they shit gold coins!"

Dave's brow furrowed slightly, its eyes darkening. "I don't know, Master. As a slave, I would much rather belong to a Cicero, as degrading a position as it would be. The Caesars, with their messed up concept of 'corporate slaves' scare me. They don't give a rip that half of their slaves die from the awful living conditions before they're even thirty. The poor slaves never even get a chance to honorably serve a master or take any pride in their duties. It is a terrible existence, Master."

Kurt nodded. "Oh, I am right there with you, Dave. But the Caesars, at least, are just elites who never bothered to grow up and are playing a sadistic game, the winner being the one who steals the most money and jobs from the common people. But those upstart Ciceros, wanting to be the 'newlites' or whatever, want to bring down an entire society of people and enslave everyone else. The evidence is all there. Just look at how they try and convince the common people to rise up against the elite with their anti-slavery campaigns. The way they pushed through the Equal Acquisition Amendment on an anti-slavery platform with a bias against the elite. How common banks, all run by these bastards, are suddenly convincing every man and their dog to take out unwise loans with humans as collateral. How the market for First-gens has tripled since the Equal Acquisition Amendment, but they're all sold in silent auctions so the Ciceros can claim the elite are the ones enslaving these poor freemen. Never mind that it is a very rare day that any elite purchases a First-gen!" Kurt shook his head in disgust. "You'd think that would be enough to convince people like Mercedes, Tina, and Rachel that these are *not* the good guys! Who do they *think* is buying all those First-gen slaves?"

Dave rose up slightly to rub its face comfortingly against Kurt's hand. "People often see what they want to see and believe what they want to believe, Master. Especially when it comes to morals, Sir."

"I know," Kurt said with a sigh. "But I feel bad for the girls in SAS! Obviously I don't agree with their cause, but I can see where they're coming from and I know they have good hearts. They're true liberationists, unlike the high ups who are just running schemes. Their cause is all just political schemes and they don't even know it! All the people they think are heroes are just in it for their own betterment, not giving a damn about 'innate human rights' or whatever the liberationists philosophize about. But whenever I try to explain some of this to her, Mercedes says I'm being paranoid." He gave a short laugh. "And then she'll cite all the Born-slaves that are part of the Emancipation League as an example of how slaves need to be free and are willing to fight for it."

A soft grunt came from Dave and Kurt raised an eyebrow as his slave's face twisted in anger.

"Mercedes is a fucking fool. Forgive me, Master, I look forward to my punishment for saying so. But she is. None of those Born-slaves really give a shit about freedom. I think the Ciceros are just as much behind the Emancipation League as they are the rest of the anti-slavery liberationist crap. It's easy enough to pick up an unwanted Born-slave to use as your puppet at the Discarded or Irreputable Slave Sanctuary's pounds."

Kurt blinked. "That… is true. I hadn't thought about that. It seems a little far fetched though, pet. Maybe they really are just runaways who want to be recognized as freemen."

Dave scowled. "The Born-slaves in the Emancipation League—or, as I like to call it, the Retardation League—are nothing but a bunch of turn-coats who ruined their chance at life by acting in rebellion against their rightful masters. *Someone* had to explain elite culture to the Ciceros, after all, and it wasn't an elite. I would bet my place at your feet that it was Born-slaves they picked up at pounds who betrayed the society in a desperate need to please their new masters since they failed so badly pleasing their first." Dave snarled a little and Kurt reached out, a little amused at its vigor, rubbing his hand through its hair in a comforting manner. "I've met Born-slaves who are part of the League and Miss Mercedes *is* a fool if she thinks that they want to be free—though, once again, I look forward to my punishment for saying so. They don't bomb the cars of elite politicians and shoot up elite schools because they want to be people! They do it because their new masters tell them to as part of their Cicero schemes to make the common people hate the elite!"

Kurt's eyes widened. "Really? You've met a Leaguer? I didn't know that, pet." He frowned. "Why didn't you tell me this?"

Dave dropped its eyes, looking uncomfortable. "It was… quite awhile ago, Master. And, honestly, it was all I could do not to snap its neck right there. I just wanted to forget about it. I am sorry, Master."

"I suppose it doesn't matter. But David… don't you think that *any* of them really want to be freemen?" Kurt had never actually met a member of the Emancipation League. Well, not knowingly, anyway. He knew that it was a large group and, though it was best known for its occasional acts of terrorism against the elite, it also had many peaceful members who organized protests, fought political issues, and, if rumor could be trusted, ran a network to help slaves escape their masters and start new lives as freemen. Kurt wasn't sure how true *that* part was, but he knew that was what excited people like Mercedes and Rachel about it.

Dave snorted, a rather rude sound. "Oh, I am sure there are plenty of First-gens in the lower ranks of the group working to be free again, Master. But the 'escaped' Born-slaves that supposedly run its individual branches? Or even the Born-slaves living 'undercover' with fake masters until they can get a new identity? Please. No Born-slave wants freedom—it wants to be appreciated as a great slave! These are just slaves lost their first chance with their first masters and are dying for a second. All they want is another chance to be a good slave, and I guess the promises of status and appreciation in their new master's home is enough to keep them from choking to death on the guilt."

"Don't you think that, if a Born-slave gets a taste of what it's like to be a freeman and forgets its place, that it might want freedom?" Kurt questioned, truly curious. His slave, after all, got quite a few sugary licks of what it would taste like to be free everyday at McKinley.

Dave shook its head. "No, Master, I don't. No slave wants to be freed—it wants to serve well. The idea of freedom is… frightening. What would a slave *do* with freedom, without its Master to care for it? Where would it go, what would it eat, where would it live, and, most importantly, who would it serve? Without a master, your life has no purpose. Since the day I was born I was taught that pleasing Master is my purpose in life! Serving you, Master, is a gift. It gives me purpose. But a slave can lose that right, and be sent to the pound where it will live unhappily, scorned and unwanted. Almost no slaves are purchased from pounds because they tend to be there for rebellion. So when these slaves get a chance to serve a new master, they leap at it, even if it means betraying the people they should have served faithfully. Personally, I think rebel slaves should just be put down like the sick animals they are, then there would be no chance of a Cicero getting his hands on one and using it for his political schemes. Hell, I'd be glad to put them down myself, as any good slave would."

Kurt gave a low chuckle, shaking his head a little. It would never cease to amaze him just how much 'good Born-slaves' despised slaves that betrayed their masters. It reminded him of the story of Spartacus, a soldier captured and enslaved by Rome who started a war over his freedom. They told the tale at SAS like he was some big hero—never mind that he had probably owned slaves in his own land and wasn't fighting to end slavery, just to free himself and his friends. But slaves referred to the man as 'Spartacus the Betrayer' and used his name as a synonym for backstabber, much like common freemen used the name of Judas.

"Well, Mercedes doesn't believe that about Born-slaves, slave Dave. She truly believes they want to be free and the elite are evil for keeping them as slaves. And someday, the Ciceros will convince all the common people that the elite are evil and out to get them. They're smart, too. They'll probably turn them fully against us by convincing the commoners that *we're* the ones taking all these freemen and turning them into First-gens. The common people will attack us and the Born-slaves will probably all die fighting for their masters. All that will be left are the common people. But, by that time, the Ciceros will have *all* the money, and every common person will be so far in debt that those upstart bastards will have every right to make them their slaves. Then, instead of the free world Mercedes imagines, it will be just masters and slaves again. Only these won't be Born-slaves, it will be former freemen, forced into slavery." Talk about some morose thoughts there.

Dave actually shuddered. "That is a really depressing prediction, master. Those Ciceros are too tricky for their own good. In fact, when you say it like that, it makes even more sense, them being secretly behind groups like the Emancipation League. That way they will know exactly which common people are the most willing to fight against slavery. Makes it easy to take out the strongest freedom fighters when they are 'accidentally' killed during a League protest or something. Then when it all goes down, there won't be as many people left who are really willing to fight."

Kurt's eyes widened. He hadn't thought of it like *that.* "You can be surprisingly insightful sometimes, slave David." He ran his fingers through its hair again and it made a happy noise. "That's really kind of scary… but totally plausible. Maybe we *are* just being paranoid now... But I think maybe you're right. We know for a fact that the Ciceros are behind the legal liberationist movements in their schemes to bring down the elite. Why shouldn't they be behind the Emancipation League? That would help explain how so many Born-slaves have managed to 'escape,' despite being micro-chipped in several places. Their masters already know what they're doing—they sent them to do it. And, just from the membership logs of the Emancipation League, they will know exactly who is most against slavery so they can deal with them before showing true real colors and beginning to openly enslave the common people." Kurt frowned deeply, fingers tightening in his slave's hair. "That kind of makes me worry for Mercedes. She doesn't even realize there are way bigger problems than whether or not you have a collar around your neck."

Dave made a small noise of agreement. "But I wouldn't worry too much, Master. I am just a slave, but even I can see the elite still hold a lot of power. This is all a long time away."

"Yeah… but the elite are getting weaker every year." Kurt sighed. "I guess there's no point in worrying over it. There's not a lot we can do, anyway. Hell, I can't even warn Mercedes about it because she'd call me a paranoid freak and ask me if I thought Pee Wee Herman shot JFK, too."

"The logic of common people confuses me sometimes, Master," Dave said, frowning a little.

Kurt laughed, ruffling its hair. "Yes, there can be a bit of a language barrier, I know, puppy. Just look at what you said to my father last week!"

Dave's cheeks turned redder than its butt after a spanking. So cute. "Master, I swear that I didn't mean to upset Master Burt when I asked if he wanted to mount me! He'd been looking at my genitals all night and, well, since he has no wife, I thought maybe he wanted some relief! I didn't realize he was looking at my chastity device through my shorts!" Its brow furrowed in confusion. "Or that he was 'trying not to look at my chastity device,' anyway. I dunno why he was looking if he was trying not to look, though, Master Kurt."

Such a stupid little oaf. Kurt smiled at it. "I know, silly slave, I know." He shook his head in amusement. That had been one crazy evening. His father's bald head had been so red he'd looked like a tomato and, from the look on his face when he'd first come into the room, Kurt had thought he'd swallowed a leech. Or found Kurt's stash of muscle mags again.

There had been a few choice words about talking to his slave regarding what was appropriate behavior between young boys and men, followed by fifteen minutes of Kurt explaining how saying that to Dave would have no effect whatsoever considering that slaves considered themselves fully grown around twelve or so. Which had led to Burt making disgusted faces and cursing all the 'sicko nasty pedo pervert trainers' in the world.

It hadn't *really* gotten bad, however, until Burt had decided that he and Kurt needed to have a little 'chat' and he'd had to listen to his dad talk about Dave like it was Kurt's boyfriend for an hour. It had been extremely uncomfortable, and not just because his dad would only refer to sexual acts only as 'the stuff that went down in the tent with Heath Ledger.' It had *really* been uncomfortable because Kurt's dad just didn't seem to get that 'having sex' with Dave was totally *not* what he was doing. Freemen did not make love to slaves—they just mounted them! So there was no need to talk about things like how 'intimacy can make you feel' or why you should 'respect the one you care about.' It was crazy talk!

Not that Kurt didn't respect Dave. As a slave, of course. And not that Dave didn't make him feel good. But *just* in a physical way! Like a slave should. Because that's all it was. It was his slave and it was there for him to mount when he was aroused. Physically. Like using your hand, only way better. And Kurt had totally never forgotten, not even an *instant,* that it was just a slave he was mounting. Absolutely not. He had *never* let the fantasy of a caring boy making sweet love to him blend with the reality of his slave's always-ready body beneath him. And he had definitely never had to toss a washcloth over its face while mounting it to keep himself from kissing it like it was his Prince Charming and telling it that they should totally get hitched and adopt some babies or something.

Not. A single. Time.

Okay, maybe once. Or twice. Third time was the charm?

Kurt's face was beginning to grow a little warm—along with other places—as the thoughts flooded his mind. It didn't help that Dave continued to stare up at him adoringly with its pretty brown eyes. He should really punish it for making him think these things, dammit! What would his grandmother think? Seriously, he needed to get a real boyfriend before he lost his mind totally and became one of those pitiful losers who would rather mount his favorite slave than get it on with a real, live person.

Kurt cleared his throat, pushing the thoughts from his mind. He could bemoan his insanity later. "You need to remember your lessons on how to act around commoners when you're with my father, David. This is not the first time you've done this! You know those kind of offers make commoners uncomfortable in general, and they usually don't like the word 'mounting,' either. It's all sex to them."

Dave turned its head so that its cheek was resting on the covers, eyes gazing up at Kurt, a slightly troubled look on its face. "That seems awfully personal, Master," it said after a moment, its voice quiet. "To have 'sex' with a slave?"

It was so right. Seriously, the thoughts Kurt had about it sometimes were fucked up. Maybe he mounted it too often. Like those perverts addicted to watching porn on the Internet. He needed a man, bad. Maybe he should try ?

Dave gave him a tiny smile. It really was just adorable. Sometimes he just wanted to climb on top of it and—

There was a loud knock on the door. "Kurt, Davey, your friends are here!"

Saved by the bell. Time to deal with bigger problems. Thank God almighty.


	10. Ch 10: Bound and Determined

****If you would like to read this on my livejournal instead of the evil ff net, you can find it at****

****pucktheperv [dot] livejournal [dot] com [slash] tag [slash] bornthisslave****

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**Summary:**Everything is going well for Glee Club until a drop in the economy leaves one of their own in a desperate situation. The bank is foreclosing on Sam and he is about to be sent into a world of legal slavery - a trade that is entirely foreign to everyone except the highest of society. The situation seems helpless until Kurt comes forward with a secret that may save Sam's life-but it may also lose Kurt his friends when they find out that one of their own is, in fact, a slavemaster. And his slave is no other than Dave Karofsky.

**Author's Notes:** Okay, you guys gotta help me catch up on number of reviews with Tusofsky's Country Slave. We live in the same house and whoever loses gonna get whupped with my lucky crop. Which is still fun, but I prefer to be tho whooper! MUAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAH ;P

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**Chapter 10: Bound and Determined  
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"Kurt, Davey, your friends are here!"

Dave crawled back a few steps so that Kurt could climb off the bed, then it rose to its feet, turning to face the stairs with its head bowed respectfully, hands still clasped behind its back.

Kurt was totally not thinking at all about how the position made his slave's pecs flex.

"Come on in, guys!" Kurt called out and the door opened. Mercedes marched in and Kurt was pretty sure that Sam had trailed in behind her, however, it was hard tell since what she was wearing demanded the full attention of anyone with eyes.

Dave glanced up then made a choking sound, its eyes growing huge.

"Lady Gaga on a piece of toast," Kurt said, shaking his head in disbelief. "You look *fabulous* Mercedes!"

Fabulous hardly covered it. She was definitely the essence of 'big, beautiful woman,' dressed in a low cut, shiny gold top with paired with an androgynous yet somehow still effeminate silk jacket and wide leg silk trousers. Her eyelids were dusted with gold powder and she was wearing a necklace of gold coins that covered her throat and trailed down to rest above her very… prominent breasts. But what really made her look like a queen was the crown upon her head, a wide brimmed black hat decorated with golden roses and large gold feathers that arched a foot into the air above it.

Day-am.

Mercedes grinned widely, putting a hand on her hip and striking a pose. "How do I look? Good enough for an elite mall?"

"Girl, you look good enough to be America's Next Top Model! Doesn't she look lovely, David?"

Dave made a soft choking sound, kind of like it had maybe swallowed a fly, then gave her a tight smile. "You look, ah, very glamorous, Miss Mercedes."

The girl started to grin at it, then seemed to sort of freeze, her eyes widening. "Wow. Whoa… Damn… Uh, did we come in at a bad time?" She glanced back at Sam, who was dressed as conservatively as possible in baggy jeans and a hoodie that came over his hands and hid his face. Someone was obviously not looking forward to the coming day when he would have to strip down. "Maybe we should come back in a few, like, when Karofsky's got a little more clothing on?"

Kurt shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. "Um, well, actually, this is slave Dave's uniform."

Mercedes' eyes widened, mouth dropping open. "That's his *uniform?* That's not a uniform, Kurt, it's some nail polish on his balls!"

Kurt winced and Sam made a sound that could have been a laugh or a sob. Somehow Kurt didn't think the boy was handling his fate very well. "Actually, it is. Those are his, erm, slave shorts. They make clothing specifically for slaves. In fact, I figured we would pick some up for Sam at the mall so that he wouldn't have to wear what the bank's trainers gave him." Kurt made a face. "I hear a lot of slaves die in those clothes and you don't want any second-hand blood on you."

Mercedes just continued to stare at Dave, mouth hanging open in a very unladylike way. Kurt supposed it was an understandable reaction to his enormous slave standing in the middle of the room wearing nothing but skin-tight spandex shorts so tiny they could be mistaken for a wide belt. He should have thought about the fact that she'd never seen Dave when it wasn't dressed either in jeans and a letterman or its football uniform. Football pants were pretty tight, but they had nothing on the spandex Dave had on. Honestly, wearing nothing at all wouldn't have made much of a difference, except in color.

Dave just stared back, eyes up but head still lowered submissively. It was a slave. It was used to people looking at it in ways that a freeman might consider rude. Though it did have a strange glint in its eye… It really didn't like Mercedes much.

Or maybe… maybe it liked her too much. Kurt blinked at the strange thought. He had never considered… Was it *attracted* to girls? Was it *attracted* to Mercedes? It had made quite the sound when she had first walked into the room in her fabulous gear. Kurt's lips turned down at the thought. It bothered him, for some reason, the idea of David being attracted to Mercedes. Kurt's jaw tightened. He and his slave might just have to have a little talk about what was and wasn't appropriate in the future. Because it thinking those kind of thoughts about Mercedes was totally inappropriate. Because Mercedes was a freewoman, of course. Not because Kurt wanted it all for himself or anything silly like that.

"Are… are you saying that he's going to the mall with us dressed like that?"

Kurt's frown deepened. Was it just his imagination, or did Mercedes' voice sound a little huskier than usual?

"Yes," he said shortly. "That's what slaves wear. Or what David will be wearing, anyway." Because what *his* slave wore was none of *her* business!

"Whoa… do you mean I'm gonna have to walk around in shorts that tight?" Sam's eyes were almost as big as his mouth, which was really saying something. "I can't do that. Everyone will *see* me!"

Kurt laughed, pushing his sour thoughts out of his mind and turning his attention to Sam. "I don't think *you* have anything to hide, sweetie." Hell, he was just surrounded by males with nothing to hide today!

Dave made a little grunting noise, shifting its feet, and Kurt raised an eyebrow in its direction.

"Did you have something you wanted to say, puppy?" Kurt asked, voice a snippier than usual. The strange images he was getting of Mercedes co-opting his slave out from under him were *not* amusing.

"Mmm, no Master. I mean, yes, Master. I just thought Mr. Sam, or soon to be slave Sam, should know that many slave owners require their more… personal slaves… to wear even less than this, even in public, Master. And when I say less, Sir, I mean nothing at all. Completely. Naked." Its words were a little too sweet, a tone Kurt recognized for the jab it was—though he really wasn't sure why Dave was trying to subtly upset Sam. Maybe… maybe it was jealous of Sam for getting to spend time with Mercedes? Kurt's eyes narrowed. He was *not* liking this sudden aggression in his slave. Or its possible fascination with Mercedes. Specifically with certain parts of Mercedes.

Kurt reached out slapped Dave's ass hard enough to make his hand sting, scowling at the slave.

Dave hardly reacted but Mercedes and Sam both jumped about a foot in the air, Mercedes letting out a loud shriek.

"Dammit, Kurt! Don't slap his butt like that! That's just messed up!"

"It's gonna get more than one slap to the butt if it doesn't be a good boy! I'll go the goddamn pancake flipper and take it to its bottom until it looks like a damn cherry!"

By now Dave looked somewhat chastised, but Kurt was still annoyed. And Mercedes was still standing there with her slave-distracting breasts. "I am counting on you to be the well-trained slave here and help Mr. Sam, slave! And so far, you are failing spectacularly."

*Now* the damn slave looked upset, as it damn well should!

It fell to its knees and began to crawl silently to Kurt, stopping about a foot away and dropping to the floor, lifting its face just enough for Kurt to see as it gently touched its lips with one finger. Kurt ignored it. It could kneel for awhile and think about what being a sassy little brat got you.

Sam was watching with what looked like terror while Mercedes made a disgusted face, shaking her head.

"This is so messed up. I cannot believe Karofsky just crawled across the floor to kiss your damn feet. That just seems *wrong.*"

"I… Am I gonna have to do that? How does anyone do that? I can't kneel at somebody's feet!" Sam's face was white and Mercedes reached out, patting his arm comfortingly.

"Don't worry, Sam. We're going to get you out of this, remember? You're not really going to be a slave, we're just buying time, okay?" She turned back to glare at Kurt. "Get him off the floor, dammit! You're freaking out Sam!"

Kurt sighed and reached down to tug at Dave's hair, giving silent permission for it to rise. Sam had better get used to this shit fast, because kneeling was definitely not the worst thing he'd be doing.

Dave climbed to its feet in silence, an ashamed look on its face. It met Kurt's eyes again, pressing a finger to its lips. No doubt it wanted to beg forgiveness. Somehow Kurt didn't think Sam could handle that right now, however, so he shook his head abruptly and gave the slave a shove toward the closet.

"Go get your bindings, Dave, and let's get out of here."

"His bindings?" Mercedes asked, arms still wrapped around a now-hyperventilating Sam. "What the hell are bindings?"

"It's lesson one for Sam, actually," Kurt replied, trying to ignore the way Sam was now looking at Kurt like maybe he was the scariest thing on the planet. Like the Anti-Christ. Or Dolly Parton's left breast. "There are certain protocols when you take a slave to a public venue. Certain attire that is considered appropriate. The first thing is, obviously, the clothing. But slaves don't have to wear clothing unless you want them to, so it's not that important. Other things, however, are required."

Dave returned with the bondage trunk in its arms, shoulders obviously tense and an upset look on its face. Kurt let out a little sigh then gave it a warm smile, gesturing for it to come forward. No reason to ruin the outing by leaving his slave feeling shamed. So it had been a little distracted by Mercedes' boobs. Kurt could forgive that. They were pretty damn distracting, after all. He wasn't sure how big a bra she wore, but it was definitely down there in the alphabet.

"For Master," it murmured as it bent to set down the heavy trunk like it weighed nothing.

Kurt reached out, ruffling its hair in a friendly way, then patted it on the shoulder as it straightened.

"Good boy."

Dave's whole body relaxed at the words and a small smile appeared on its face as it took a polite step backward and stood at attention, head bowed respectfully, hands behind its back. It really was such a good boy. It was hard to stay mad at it.

"Slave, kneel."

Dave obeyed immediately, moving to kneel down next to Kurt on the floor. Mercedes made an uncomfortable sound but Kurt ignored her, reaching down to slip his fingers beneath the thick, metal collar Dave wore. The collar was made out of steel, about a quarter if an inch thick and two inches wide, with a simple ring at the throat for attaching a lead or chain. "This is slave Dave's slave collar. All slaves are required to wear some kind of collar. Some look more like chain necklaces, though males usually wear ones that look like Dave's. Most are metal of some kind, though they are often covered by leather or other materials for decorative purposes."

"How do you get that thing off?" Mercedes questioned as Kurt used his hand to manipulate Dave's head into different positions so they could observe the collar. "I don't see a lock."

"Dave wears a permanent collar. It is what the elite call a prize slave, which means it is my personal slave and that it's with me most of the time. Permanent collars are very expensive, but my grandmother got it for me as a Christmas gift two years ago, after she was pretty sure Dave had mostly finished growing It was welded together on his neck to be one, solid piece."

Sam's mouth dropped open. "It can't come off?"

Kurt shook his head. "Nope. Well, not without some hardcore equipment, anyway. I have a GPS locator that connects to a micro-chip embedded in the collar so that I can always find it. If you don't have your own locator on your slave then you have to call SLAP to track one of the bodily micro-chips and they charge a fee for that. A rather exorbitant fee, in my opinion."

"*Bodily* micro-chips?" Sam asked, looking queasy.

Kurt nodded. "Yes. All slaves have bodily chips. But they *probably* won't put one in you until they register you."

Sam collapsed onto Kurt's bed, a glazed look on his face. "That does *not* make me feel any better." He looked down at Dave. "Does it hurt?"

Dave gave Kurt a quick look, fingertip brushing its lips and Kurt nodded his permission.

"Um, no Mr. Sam. You can't feel it. Them. I'm not even sure where they are. Or how many I have. It's listed in my registration, though, I believe."

Sam made a face. "I actually meant if it hurts when they put them in."

"Oh. Uh, I don't know, Mr. Sam. I was kinda young, I think. I don't remember them being put in at all."

"Didn't it leave, like, a scar?" Mercedes questioned, looking genuinely curious.

Dave's brow furrowed slightly then it shrugged. "I, um, have a lot of scars Miss Mercedes." It glanced down at its chest. "I guess they're hard to see in this light, and with all the hair on my chest and legs…"

"He's covered in scars," Sam said, voice almost robotic. "It's always the talk of the locker room. Puck calls it 'Count the Crackings.' You count as many scars as you can before Karofsky notices you staring and snarls at you. They're on his back, his chest, his legs, his thighs. The back of his neck. Everywhere but his face. Puck says he counted thirty-two once."

Dave made a sound that wasn't unlike a snarl, then it seemed to get hold of itself, glancing over at Kurt, then dropping its head. "Puckerman is nowhere near 'counting the crackings' I've gotten if he's only at thirty-two. I have a hell of a lot more scars than that. And I took plenty of crackings that didn't leave scars, *Mr. Sam.*" Once again Dave sounded *way* too innocent for it to be real. "But don't worry, Mr. Sam. I'm sure no one will need to crack a whip on *you*. Wouldn't want to ruin those perfect abs of yours."

It was all Kurt could do to keep himself from smacking it upside the head. What was up with it today? It was being almost as bad as it had at Mr. Schue's house! David was normally such a perfectly obedient slave… It was intelligent and sometimes made jokes that were slightly inappropriate to its place, but it was never outright *rude.* Maybe it was just having a hard time adjusting to being 'slave Dave' with people it was used to being 'Jock Dave' around. Kurt could understand that.

Sam wrapped his arms around himself like he was cold, looking up at Kurt with wide eyes. "I… I'm not gonna get whipped, am I Kurt?"

Kurt bit his lip, not sure what to say. Sam would be whipped. Learning to take a whipping was part of slave training. Finally he replied, "Well… it may not leave scars, Sam." It was better than nothing, at least.

Sam made a frightened sound, pulling his legs up onto the bed and burying his face in them. Mercedes sat down next to him, making soothing noises.

Kurt glanced over at Dave, giving him a very clear 'Now see what you did?' look. Dave looked appropriately guilty, cheek tinged red as it swallowed nervously.

"I… Please, Mr. Sam, don't be so upset. It… it's not as bad as it seems. I'm sorry, I was trying to be scary, Sir. I've been… acting in an inappropriate way, which I look forward to my punishment for. Whippings seem scary, I know, but… I promise, it's not so bad, okay? It's really not so bad."

Sam sniffled and looked up, though he kept his knees tight against his chest, staring at Dave for a long moment. Finally he spoke, voice quiet. "I don't believe you."

Kurt let out a sigh and patted his slave on the head. It had tried, at least. Nothing was really going to make Sam feel better at this point. He might as well just try and distract him.

"So, as I was saying, your slave must always wear a collar, even in public around common people. It's a mark of what it is. Other bindings are discouraged when your slave will be around common men, unless they have clothing over them, because it tends to make your average middle classers uncomfortable."

"Gee, I wonder what could possibly make us uncomfortable about people walking around in bondage?" Mercedes asked sarcastically, one arm still draped across Sam's shoulders.

Dave shifted at the sound of her voice, but this time is was *definitely* in irritation, not in attraction. Maybe he had been silly to think Dave was distracted by Mercedes' breasts. A little paranoid, perhaps? Dave was Kurt's slave and it was loyal to *him*.

"If the collar is not permanent, like Dave's, then it must be locked on, as well. However, at some elite venues, especially places where many masters will be bringing their prize slaves, other bindings besides collars are required. For elite parties, it is up to the host to decide what minimum bindings are, though you can always bring your slave in heavier bondage if you feel it is necessary or if you simply like to bind your slaves. Bu there are actually laws for some circumstances. For a trader to legally transport slaves in bulk, for example, slaves must have their hands bound, feet shackled, and be gagged. That way no arguments will start up and no physical fights will be possible."

"Is gagging someone really necessary?" Mercedes asked, sounding shocked. "Talk about degrading!"

Kurt sighed. She thought *everything* was degrading. "It's a *safety* issue, Mercedes. It's just about being *safe.* At the elite mall we're going to, privately owned slaves have to be in pretty heavy bondage. They had a few circumstances last year when the House of Julia was feuding politically with the House of Servilia and some of the elite youth decided to use the food court as a gladiator ring. So now male slaves' legs must be fettered in a way that makes it impossible to run, they must wear a choke collar, a shock collar, or a facial harness, and they must be attached to a lead. A female slave has to be collared and leashed but doesn't need its legs bound. All slaves must also have a metal shackle for either their wrist or ankle and be tethered to the table-posts within three feet of their master when they're in the food court." Kurt shook his head. "You wouldn't have *believed* what went down in that food court. Pizza and orange chicken were flying *everywhere,* there was blood in the wishing fountain, and one of the slaves managed to remove the another's nipple with a disposable fork."

"Oh my God," Sam murmured, looking terrified. "That's craziness."

Dave popped open the bondage trunk, looking down at the neatly arranged mass of leather, metal, and chains. "Which would Master like?"

Hm… A good question… Kurt didn't want to make Sam puke, which is where he looked like he was headed, and the look that Mercedes was giving him kind of made him fear for his balls if he pulled out anything too… interesting. But they couldn't go to the mall with Dave in just a collar—they would never get past security. Not after last year when a slave had been thrown through the display window at Victoria's Secret and died in a pile of Miraculous Bras.

Kurt frowned. Oh, screw their delicate sensibilities. He was doing this to help Sam, dammit! They were just going to have to deal. Accept things for the way things were. Because, at this point, Sam had no other choice.

"Well, I hate choke chains," he said, his words forcibly cheerful. "Dave would never run off, it's a good boy, but I have a tendency to get quite excited when I see the perfect sequined scarf and just lunge for it!" Kurt mimicked the movement, laughter dying out when Mercedes just stared at him with a sour look. "Since they are quite powerful choking devices, well, that can make for an interesting experience, can't it, slave Dave?"

Dave nodded seriously, though there was a small smile on its face. "Yeah, you could say that, Master. It certainly hurt to swallow for awhile, Sir."

"We'll go with the face harness then," Kurt said briskly, hoping he wasn't making the wrong choice. He doubted Mercedes would like the harness, but it was much kinder to a slave than a choke or shock collar.

Dave reached into the trunk obediently, rifling through the pieces and pulling out a mess of black straps, offering it to Kurt.

Kurt took the leather. "Put the steel manacles on your ankles and loop the fettering cord through while I try and get this thing untangled," Kurt instructed as he began to fiddle with the soft leather straps.

There was a little bit of clanking, then the quiet sound of padlocks clicking, as Dave put the heavy metal cuffs around its ankles then locked a small chain onto one, reaching down into its shorts to pull the chain beneath the material.

"Whoa!" Mercedes cried out, pushing herself up off the bed to stand with her hand in a 'stop' motion. "Hold up! This turn you on or something, Karofsky? What the hell do you think you're doing, boy? There is a lady present!"

Dave froze, one hand in its pants and a slightly irritated look on its face, and Kurt cleared his throat uncomfortably. "The, um, fettering chain slides through a loop on, um, a device that Dave has under its clothes, Mercedes." Wow. This was fun to explain. Chastity devices would be ever better. Hopefully they could save that one for later. "See, if you just hook the chain from one foot to the other, it has to be really short to prevent running, which makes it hard to walk. But if you, um, well…" Kurt felt his face starting to warm. "How do I explain this?" He looked helplessly at his slave and Dave's lip twitched in obvious amusement before ducking its head respectfully in Mercedes' direction.

"It wraps around my genitalia, Miss Mercedes," it said calmly as it began to fiddle around in those tight shorts again. "That way the chain can be very loose, so that I can easily walk and keep up with Master, but if I ran, it would pull tight at the sudden movement, restricting around my balls, which is very painful." It paused and then added, apparently just for good measure, "Very, very painful."

Two very's. When it came to Dave that meant that jumping out of a plane with no parachute or wearing Crocs in public might hurt less.

"Painful enough that there would definitely be no more running, anyway, Ma'am."

Sam made a little whimpering noise. "They're gonna put one of those on me?" He was starting to look rather panicked. "They can't put one of those one me!"

Dave looked at the boy oddly, one eyebrow lifting. "It's not that big of a deal, Mr. Sam. It only hurts if you run, and I'm not going to run. Definitely not going to run. Forgetting once, when I was in training and tried to catch a butterfly while fettered, left an impression that will last forever."

"You have a *chain* wrapped around your *nuts*, Karofsky!" Sam said in disbelief. "Don't you find that a little disturbing?"

"No, Mr. Sam." It gave a little shrug. "I've had *a lot* of things wrapped around my balls."

Mercedes made an irritated sound. "Yuck, thanks for that image. Now is *not* the time for a manly show of dirty-minded jockish sex jokes, Karofsky."

Dave stared at her for a split second, looking confused, then its mouth dropped open, an annoyed look coming over its face. "I meant restrictive devices, Miss Mercedes! Not *that*!" It snorted. "And you're sure I'm the dirty-minded one, Miss Ford F-150-I mean, Miss Mercedes?"

"Dave!" Kurt cried out as Mercedes practically snarled, trying his best to seem truly upset though he was laughing inside. He landed a hard smack to Dave's chest, then twisted its nipple rather brutally. "Be polite to Miss Mercedes, slave David!"

Its jaw tightened at the pain in its nipple. "Yes, Master Kurt. I'm sorry, Miss Mercedes. I look forward to my punishment." It didn't really sound particularly sorry, but what the hell? Mercedes had it coming for assuming that everything Dave said was related to what was in its pants.

"Okay," Kurt said, trying to redirect the conversation before another word about testicles was spoken. "Get back down so I can put this face harness on," he instructed, holding up the straps he'd finally gotten untangled.

"How come they can't just wear plain collars?" Mercedes questioned, eyeing the leather with obvious disgust as Dave got down on its knees. "Isn't that degrading enough? Do you really have to take it a step further?"

"How many times do I have to tell you that it's for *safety* reasons, Mercedes?" Kurt asked, exasperated. "It's for *safety* reasons, in case some slave acts up! Dave is very obedient, as are most slaves, but sometimes quarrels start. Hell, most of the time the quarrels start between the masters and the slaves are just stuck fighting it out! The point, though, is to have them in something that will actually restrain them so that no one will get their head stuffed into the ice cream mixer at the Ben & Jerry's stand!"

Mercedes frowned. "But you said some masters put their slaves in more bondage just because they want to."

Kurt let out a loud sigh. "Yeah, well, it's sort of turned into a form of fashion, okay? How crazy/pretty/cool can you wrap up your slave? But at the core it's about safety." He lifted the straps in his hand. "This is actually a bridle, not a plain face harness, but the reins and bit are removable and you can clip a lead under the chin and use it as a face harness, too."

"A bridle?" Sam repeated in disbelief. "What, do you *ride* him or something, Kurt?"

Er… only when he was feeling *very* humorous. Or when he was at an elite party and someone had slipped something in the punch. Not that Sam and Mercedes needed to know about *that* evening… Kurt waved the question away. "It's just one of the binding pieces that are popular with the elite. Like I said, people like to buy fancy bondage equipment, just for show, you know." He snapped his fingers. "Fashion is alive in all classes!"

Kurt reached down, slipping the bridle over Dave's head. It was constructed of soft, black leather with silver buckles and locks. There was a strap that wrapped from the top of the head down the cheeks to fasten under the chin, then another strap that went around the forehead and back of the head. Another strap crossed just under the nose, lying just above the upper lip, and two thin straps came down on either side of the nose from a strap that ran down the center of the forehead to hold it in place. The strap under the nose buckled at the back of the head, then there was another strap just below it that held a gag-like piece with D-rings on either side for the "reins."

Dave opened its mouth to take the bit before being asked and Kurt began to fiddle with the straps that held it in place, finally getting it unhooked from the rest of the harness. Once the little silver buckles came free he tapped his slave on the side of the face and it obediently dropped the "bit" back into its master's hand. Kurt tossed it and the reins back into the bondage chest then began to work at tightening the chin and facial straps.

"So we just tighten this chin strap to help minimize talking…" Kurt murmured as he worked, concentrating. "And make sure it's not too tight so our little slave here doesn't get a headache… Are the straps okay, puppy?"

Dave gave a short nod and Kurt smiled, patting it on the head. It lifted its chin so that Kurt could hook on the lead, returning its master's smile with one of its own.

It was *such* a good boy.

"Oh my God." Kurt looked up sharply at the horrified tone of Mercedes' voice. "That is just… That is…" He didn't even know how to describe the look on her face. She had looked better the day Glee Club had done 'Blame It On the Alcohol' and puked all over the stage. "That is *horrible*, Kurt! *You* are horrible!" Yup, the disgust in her voice was just about as clear as vomit on his face. If vomit was really, really clear, anyway. Kurt flinched a little and took a deep breath, digging his fingers into Dave's hair as he tried to calm his twisting stomach.

"Mercedes," Kurt said quietly. "R-remember what we talked about? You know… about having an open mind? For-for Sam's sake?"

The girl let out a short laugh, shaking her dead in disbelief. "Kurt, this is so degrading, it's not even a little bit funny. I feel sick—literally!—just looking at him. I *never* thought I'd feel bad about Karofsky being humiliated, considering that he's slushied me, like, twenty times, but *damn*! Nobody deserves this! I mean, I can't even *imagine* anything more humiliating that you could do to it!"

Dave glared at her. "I can," it said adamantly. "Lots of things." The comment was obviously meant to be in Kurt's support, but he wasn't sure that declaring that it could think of lot of more humiliating things that Kurt could do to it was really going to help.

"I am not wearing one of those things!" Sam declared as he sat up very straight, sounding panicked. "Not ever!"

"I'm sorry but you won't have a choice, Mishter Sam," Dave said simply, its words a tiny bit slurred due to the chin strap that was holding its mouth mostly shut. "Bondage is one of the first things covered in slave training since it is required in order to go out with your Mashter."

"This junk about needing bondage or whatever for safety reasons is a fat load of crap," Mercedes said, voice venomous. "You need the humiliation of it to degrade them enough that they actually believe they're less than you so that they won't rebel!" She moved forward, putting her hands on her hips as she stared down at Dave. "Karofsky, get up off the floor and take that thing off! You're a big, strong person with a will of your own! If you say no, little Kurt there can't stop you! Are you really just gonna kneel there while a boy half your size puts you in a harness like an animal?"

Dave's face had turned an interesting shade of red. "I'm a slave, Miss Mercedes, and a good one! I will do as my Master pleases—it's my duty!"

Kurt ran a hand lightly through its hair in an attempt to calm it, then scowled at Mercedes. "For the last time, it is not degrading Mercedes! I'm not humiliating it! I care about it, why would I want to hurt it? It's a *slave*! Putting it in a harness doesn't humiliate it! It. Is. Just. A. Slave! There is a practical reason for this! Like you said, it's twice my size! Do you really think elite malls would be safe if all the slaves were just running wild? It's a master's job to keep its slave in check so that it doesn't get in trouble! It's another way of caring for it!"

Mercedes stood there for a moment, clenching and unclenching her fists, face twisted up in fury as she visibly tried to calm herself. After a long moment, she took a deep breath, face clearing somewhat, and moved closer to Dave, squatting down until they were nearly face to face.

"Okay," she said, her voice surprisingly calm as she turned her head to look at Kurt. "You claim that this isn't humiliating for him, right? That it's just practical and he doesn't care?"

Kurt nodded firmly, crossing his arms over his chest. "That's right."

"Okay. And slaves don't lie, right?"

"They shouldn't." What the hell was this all about?

"So can I ask him a question and he tell me the truth? No matter what it is? Will you order him to answer truthfully?"

Kurt stared at her for a moment, lips tight, then gave a short nod, glancing down at his slave. "David, whatever Miss Mercedes asks, I want you to answer her honestly. And I'll know if you don't, okay?"

Dave's eyes widened slightly as it looked back and forth between Mercedes and Kurt, obviously nervous. It flinched a little when Mercedes reached out and gently touched the strap running across its forehead.

"Okay, honest answer. I want to know… Is this humiliating, Karofsky?"

Dave just stared back at her, eyes very wide.

Mercedes gave it a supporting smile. "You don't lie to your master, right? So tell us, honestly. Is it humiliating to have to get down on the ground and sit there while someone ties you up so that they can pull you around like a dog? Is it humiliating to be dragged along, not able to speak, not able to decide where you're going or what you're going to do? To know that, if you're anything less than a good dog, you'll be punished like the animal they treat you as?"

"I… I'm glad to serve my—"

Mercedes cut it off. "I mean, what if your jock friends were here? Puck and Finn? Or Azimio? You like Azimio, right? You two seem tight. If he walked in here right now and saw you like this, how would you feel? Embarrassed? Ashamed? Humiliated?"

Dave's brow furrowed, a troubled look on its face. Its breath was coming a little too fast and sweat was beginning to bead on its forehead. Kurt frowned.

"I am glad to serve my Master in *any* way."

"See?" Kurt said shortly, sick of the way Mercedes always managed to make his pet so upset. She needed to quit upsetting his slave! "What did I tell you?"

Mercedes glanced up at him, her eyes cold. "He still hasn't answered my question, Kurt."

"It just said that it was glad to serve its master!"

"I didn't ask if he was glad to serve you, Kurt!" she said, standing up abruptly. "I asked if this," she gestured vaguely toward its face, "was humiliating for him!"

Kurt let out an irritated sigh. He was getting sick of this. It was getting them nowhere and it *definitely* wasn't helping Sam. "Dave, just answer the damn question!"

There was a long moment of silence and Kurt looked down, frowning when he saw it staring blankly at the floor, its muscles tight and it chest barely moving.

"David?'

His slaver jerked, licking at its lips nervously as it looked up at Kurt. "I… I am not supposed to lie, Master…" The words were almost a question and Kurt's frown deepened. It sounded almost… afraid?

"That's right, David. Answer Miss Mercedes' question. No lies."

It bowed its head, body tipping forward a little, and Kurt's eyes were drawn to the tight way it held its arms behind its back, fingernails digging into its own palms. Why was his slave afraid?

"I… I am here to serve you in every manner and I am very proud to do so… no matter how it makes me feel, Master Kurt. Because disappointing you would bring a thousand times more shame than some stupid piece of diminishing equipment—I mean, binding equipment—ever could."

Mercedes made a superior noise as Kurt stared down at it, eyes wide. What the… "Are you… are you saying that I *humiliate* you, slave David?" His words came out a little shocked. He wasn't entirely sure if the idea angered or hurt him.

Dave looked up sharply, panic coming over its face. "No, Master! I mean, some things in a slave's life are… humiliating is such a strong word… difficult, maybe? Difficult to deal with… on the inside? But learning to overcome and accept it what much of slave training is about!" Its cheeks were a deep red color. "As I said to Mr. Sam, bondage is one of the earliest elements of training. It *is* important because you must be bound to go many places with Master, but… but the real reason bondage is taught so early is because, well, it's a reminder that you are lesser. They call it being dressed in… in diminishing equipment. It is important for a slave to know in its heart of hearts that it's lesser than its master. It is the truth, and a slave needs to understand it and accept it. Having your movements restricted, being able to move only at Master's pleasure is… belittling."

Kurt made a shocked sound and Dave flinched visibly.

"No! No, Master, please don't look at this slave like that! I should not have used that word! That stupid calendar is not helping right now! It… It's *humbling.* Yes, that's the word! Not belittling—humbling! We should be humble before our masters and remember that it is their right to do with us as they please. So I'm grateful for my bindings because they help me remain humble inside! You know that a proud slave is just asking for trouble, Master! A proud slave will be whipped by handlers and mounted by strangers and deserve nothing less! The diminishing equipment reminds us to be humble, and it reminds us that Master's pleasure is the greatest reward and is worth any hardship! Next to Master's pleasure, personal pride is nothing."

Kurt just stared at it in disbelief, feeling a little light headed. *Diminishing* equipment? Is that what trainers called bondage? Was it really saying that it found wearing a harness humiliating? Belittling? Because Word A Day Calendar or no Word A Day Calendar, that 'humble' stuff was a load of crap. What else did it do every single day that it found humiliating, just because that's what it had been trained to do? It had been following Kurt around on a leash like… like the 'puppy' he called it since they were ten years old. Had it felt humiliated, every single time?

Fuck it. He could not deal with this right now. He felt like his head was about to explode.

"Let's get this off of you," Kurt said gruffly, feeling a little ill. It was a *slave.* A slave wasn't supposed to care what you did to it. And it wasn't supposed to matter, even if it did! Why was he worrying about it like it was a person? Kurt didn't know. But he could contemplate it all later. Right now he just felt sick. Slave Dave was his prize. It had been nothing but faithful to him. He didn't want to humiliate it.

Dave, however, flinched back as its master reached for the harness, its eyes wild. "Please, Master, no!" It cried out, looking absolutely panicked. "Miss Mercedes had confused everything!" The look it shot Mercedes was *not* nice. "I *enjoy* being put in my place by Master! Overcoming the difficulties of my duty so that I can please Master is what I *live* for! God dammit!" It broke then, burying its harness-covered face in its hands, big shoulders shaking as it began to cry. "I am proud to be a slave, Master! The other pride? The personal pride? It is fake. Meaningless! I am *glad* when it's taken away and I can focus on serving Master!" It let out a choked sob and Kurt dropped to his knees beside it, wrapping his arms around its shoulders, feeling like absolute shit. He hadn't meant to make his pet cry!

"Please don't take away my bindings, Master! It puts me back to where I can live only for You, which is what makes me happiest! I don't care who sees me dressed in diminishing equipment because what others think isn't important! What Master thinks is important!" It raised its head, looking Kurt soulfully in the eyes, tears running down its cheeks. "Please, please, please don't take away my place in life! I have served you loyally for six years and, in all that time, have I ever protested, Master? Please don't let one naive bitch—I mean naive girl—take away the pleasure of serving my Master!" It buried its head in Kurt's chest and he squeezed it tightly.

"It's okay," Kurt murmured comfortingly, shooting a glare at Mercedes, just for the hell of it. He wasn't sure if he was angry at her or himself, but he did *not* like seeing his slave cry, dammit! "Master isn't going to take anything away, puppy. You're right, you've been mine for six years and I'm not going to just change things out of nowhere." Kurt lifted the edge of his sweater to wipe at its tears. "But you're my prize and I don't want to hurt you. You be strong, we'll get on with out day, then you and I can talk about what happened here later, okay?"

Mercedes let out a sharp bark of laughter. "I cannot believe how brainwashed you have that poor boy, Kurt! Can you believe this, Sam?" There was no response and Mercedes turned toward the bed, frowning. "Sam?" She glanced around, eyes widening. "Where the hell did he go?"

A sobbing sound came from the bathroom and Kurt stood, clenching his fists in annoyance as he glared at Mercedes. Fabulous. Just fabulous. Thirty minutes into 'helping Sam' and the poor boy was already crying in the bathroom.

"You wait here," Kurt said shortly as he pushed past Mercedes, heading for the bathroom. "And try not to make my slave cry anymore today, okay Mercedes?"

o o o

Dave wanted to kill her. He used the back of his hand to wipe the snot off of his face as he glared in her direction. Seriously, Miss Mercedes-Benz-A-Bitch better be damn glad that the ogre-ish bully was just pretend or he'd have gladly ripped her into pieces right there. Go all Shrek-on-steroids on her butt, he would.

How could she have forced him into saying that in front of Master? And then Master had misunderstood *completely* and, in His kind-heartedness, had been ready to take away a major part of his service as a slave. Without bindings, his Master wouldn't be able to take him anywhere. Talk about a worthless slave. He'd be a joke. He couldn't even imagine what his fellow slaves at the estate would say.

Yes, it was sometimes hard on his useless pride to walk a pace behind the small, delicate boy with his face wrapped in leather and his arms chained behind him. Yes, it was difficult to watch as people looked you over and automatically dismissed you as unimportant. Especially since Dave had been spending so much time with the common folk, who worked off this strange concept that everyone was 'special.' And there was nothing worse than common folk seeing you in bondage because they didn't just dismiss you off hand like the elite, they looked at you with anything ranging from amusement to pity to disgust—none of which was fun to see in someone's eyes.

But bondage *did* keep a slave in line. A slave *should* be automatically dismissed. A slave *was* unimportant. And being both wrapped in chains yet left vulnerable by nakedness was very humbling. It reminded a slave of what it was. Any 'humiliation,' as Miss Mercedes insisted on calling it, was a slave's own fault—a slave shouldn't *have* pride to hurt.

Pride just *got* you hurt, after all.

So yeah, maybe Dave felt 'humiliated' sometimes, if you wanted to call it that. Especially when dressed in ways that were obviously *not* just for safety measures. But the bondage—especially the bondage that went beyond simple safety precautions—was about bringing Master pleasure. And any humiliation was worth it if it brought Master pleasure, because that brought *Dave* pleasure—and pride, the *good* kind of pride. Pride that he was such a good slave. The sort of pride a slave could brag about to others. Dave was proud to be Master's slave and if he had to choose between personal pride and pride at his serving abilities, there was no question that he would throw away any personal shame and bow at Master's feet in an instant.

Maybe he should have lied to Him. But he couldn't bring himself to do it, not when Master had told him specifically not to. Besides, his Master deserved to know all of His slave's fault, including Dave's lack of humility at times.

Dave had looked up at his Master expecting to see anger and disappointment at Dave's poor slavemanship. He had expected harsh words and punishment, disgust and disbelief. But instead… instead he had seen hurt. And guilt. And that had cut more deeply than a whip ever could.

His kind Master had misunderstood *completely.* He had taken Dave's words to mean that His slave didn't want to be bound when, really, all Dave wanted was to be punished for his pride. For not being the shameless slave who is proud to be bound for its Master.

Maybe his master's leniency was bad for him. Allowing him to socialize with freemen at McKinley, encouraging him to play sports, and to learn his letters like a freeman… it was all making him proud, and pride was more dangerous than curiosity.

Oh, what did it matter? What had happened, had happened, and now Master was confused and sad, which made Dave want to cry. Why, why, why had that bitch had to do this to him? He hardly had any days left with Master at all! He wanted what days he did have to be their best, not make his last six months with his Master the worst in six years!

"Karofsky?" Dave looked up at the soft voice, glaring at the girl squatting down in front of him, an obviously faked smile on her face. "Look, you don't have to live like this anymore, okay? I'm gonna help you, Kurt be damned. Now take that thing off. We'll find a way to get your collar off, too, and you can be your own person. You don't have to take this kind of abuse anymore."

Abuse? *Abuse?* Had she just implied that his Master *abused* him?

Those words were the last straw. With what could almost be called a roar, Dave sprang forward, grabbing the girl by the arms and throwing her hard onto the bed, pressing down on top of her, teeth bared. "My Master does not ABUSE me, you BITCH!"

The girl let out a shriek, shoving at his chest with her hands, and Dave froze, shocked by what he had just done. He looked over sharply at the bathroom door, holding his breath in terror. Had Master heard? The door didn't open.

Miss Mercedes made a frightened sound from beneath him.

Oh, God, what had he done?

Dave fell back, landing in a heap on the floor, then began to crawl backward as fast as he could, until his back was flush against the wall, his shoulders shaking in fear. He had attacked a freeman. He had *attacked* a *freeman.* Oh, God, what had he done?

"Please," he cried out, voice choked. "I'm sorry, Miss Mercedes. I am so, so sorry. I will be so, so, so grateful to be punished terribly that you can't even imagine. The thought of the pain brings me great pleasure!"

"No," Mercedes said as she pushed herself into a sitting position, her voice a little shaky, but firm. "No. No one is going to kurt you, Karofsky."

…No one was going to hurt him? Panic raced through Dave's chest. Surely she didn't mean…

"No one's going to hurt you because you're not going to belong to anyone anymore!"

Oh, God, it was worse than he could have imagined. So, so, so much worse. He was a rebel. He was a *rebel!*

Dave couldn't help himself, he burst into tears for the second time that afternoon. "Please, please, Miss Mercedes, this slave begs of you! Though I have no right to bed any forgiveness, I am so, so sorry for what I did! I deserve the worst of punishments! And I beg of you—whip the skin off my back and the muscle from my chest! Make me bathe in boiling water! Flog my balls until they bleed! Break my hands into useless pieces! Let a hundred men mount me in a night! But please, please, please don't take me away from Master! I may deserve no less for striking you than to be given to the Discarded and Irreputable Slave Sanctuary and spend the rest of my life living with rebels in the pound, but I've spent my whole life earning my place with my Master! Please don't take away this slave's life by handing it over to the DISS!"

Dave searched Mercedes' face, totally unable to read her at all as she stared at him with wide, bright eyes, her mouth hanging open. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she spoke, her voice shaky and low.

"I-I didn't mean that as a punishment, Karofsky. You… you're not going to be punished for pushing me." She shook her head in disbelief. "I don't understand, Karofsky. You just *said* that being locked up like that is humiliating! Why don't you want it to stop?"

Dave licked his lips nervously, heart pounding. This was his chance to explain himself, to try and get her to understand, and then, maybe, she wouldn't ask Kurt to send him to the pound like the rebel he'd acted as. But how did you explain the mind of a slave to a freeman?

"Please, Miss Mercedes, understand that what you call cruelty, I can a test of my faith. Though slaves may *claim* to have no pride, the truth is that we do! But not like you think. We are incredibly prideful, but we are proud to be *slaves*! When Trainer Karofsky took me to shows and I won awards for my service, other slaves were jealous of me, wishing that they could serve as well as I could! Other Masters looked as me and wished that I was their." He leaned forward a little, staring into her eyes. "My honor and pride is wrapped up in being a slave, Miss Mercedes! I *want* to do the things a slave does, even when they're what you would call humbling… or even humiliating. What *you* would consider humiliating, anyway. Because, if it was easy and there was never any fear or pain or shame to overcome, then everyone would be as good as you are and there would be nothing to be proud of."

He took a steadying breath. "Please, I am begging you, Miss Mercedes, don't ask my Master to take away the things that make me His slave. The things that show everyone that I am His humble possession. Because He is very sweet and innocent and kind-hearted and you might even be able to convince Him to treat me like more than the slave I am. But unless you *want* to punish me to a point that dying would seem better than living, please, please, please don't take my place as His slave away from me!"

There. He had said all he could say. Dave didn't know what else he *could* tell her. He just had to hope and pray that, somehow, she might understand.

Mercedes stared at him for what seemed like hours. She just sat there, staring. And not like people usually stared, with pride or lust or anger or any definable emotion. She stared at him like she was seeing a whole new picture. Like he was a puzzle that she was slowly piecing together in her mind. And finally, *finally* she moved toward him, reaching out and gently laying a hand on his cheek, running a finger along the leather strap of his harness.

Dave gritted his teeth to keep from jerking away. She was a freewoman, a friend of Master's. She had every right to touch him and he had no right to move away, no matter how he felt about her at the moment.

He was a good slave.

"Dave… I… God, I don't know what to do." She pulled her hand back, rubbing it across her own cheek, and Dave realized that she was crying. "It… it just doesn't seem *right* to me!"

Dave's gut wrenched, tears springing up in his eyes anew. It was all over. Even if he wasn't sent to the pound for his rebellious attack, this girl would eventually manage to convince Master that He was better off without Dave and… and… and who knew what would happen to him? Dave wasn't even sure he really cared anymore.

"But obviously… obviously things aren't quite as simple as I thought." Another tear ran down her face, but the words sent a glimmer of hope through Dave's heart. Was she saying…? "I… I hadn't really thought about how slaves would feel if they were just, you know, *freed.* I mean, I whole heartedly believe that all people gotta be free. But I guess I'd just assumed that slaves would be grateful for it. That they'd throw a big party or whatever. I don't want to *hurt* you, I want to help you."

Dave's chest felt so tight. Hope was such a scary thing.

"How… How about this? You and I… maybe we can sort of help each other? You can start coming to SAS and hear what we have to say on slavery—I'm sure Kurt won't mind since He's a member." She let out a little laugh and Dave couldn't help but smile at the thought. "And you and I will talk, too—just us. Maybe you can help explain to me how Born-slaves feel about, well, being slaves. I think that's the kind of thing I need to know before I swoop in and become another person making them do things without bothering to give them a choice of their own. That would be pretty hypocritical of me."

Yeah, it really would.

Dave licked his lips nervously. "And… and if I go to SAS then you'll stop trying to get my Master to throw me away?"

Mercedes winced. "I prefer 'free you' to 'throw you away,' but, yeah. I'll back off encouraging Kurt to let you go until you tell me that *you're* okay with it, all right?"

The relief was so overwhelming that it was almost like a drug. Mercedes' little compromise was good enough for him. Hell, she could lecture him for eternity on the evils of slavery as long as he got to spend this last six months with Master.

"Thank you, Miss Mercedes. And I… I am very sorry for pushing you." Dave glanced over at the door Master Kurt had disappeared behind guiltily. "I will be sure to report to Master for punishment."

Mercedes frowned deeply. "You know what? It's no big deal, Dave, okay? I don't want you to, uh, report to Kurt for, uh, punishment." She grimaced a little, obviously not liking the words. "In fact, I don't want you to even mention it to him, okay?"

Dave nodded obligingly, willing to agree to anything at this point. "Yes, Miss Mercedes."

Mercedes smiled at him, obviously relieved that he wasn't going to run to Master begging to be whipped. Which was fine. He didn't *need* to tell Master about it.

Dave was a good slave and he could damn well punish himself.


	11. Ch 11: A Slave Like Me

****If you would like to read this on my livejournal instead of the evil ff net, you can find it at****

****pucktheperv [dot] livejournal [dot] com [slash] tag [slash] bornthisslave****

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**Author's Notes:** Reviews are my friend-and way helpful too! Thanks to Caliena on LJ for giving me a line in a review that I couldn't resist using ("What has he done and why did you tell him not to tell me? Now he burned his hand in the stove!") and helped direct this little chapter, LOL. See what making me giggle does?

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**Chapter 11: A Slave Like Me  
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The smack of Kurt's hand hitting Dave's face was enough to make the retail slave flinch. Which was saying something considering that it worked at The Chicest Slave, one of the most popular slavewear stores in this three-story palace of a mall, and probably saw quite a few slaves smacked by their owners on a daily basis.

Kurt took a deep breath. He needed to calm down. It was just hard to do with dried blood still on Dave's face from its earlier collision with a flying toy helicopter and the way its balls seemed to be receding after the lovely crack of the thong-strings they had received.

"This does *not* just *happen,* Mercedes! This was *no* accident." He glared at his slave, not that it did much good since it was using slave etiquette to its own advantage, eyes politely lowered in order to avoid meeting Kurt's gaze. "It was definitely *no* accident! Put your damn slave shorts back on, David!" He slapped it again, to emphasize his point.

"Quit hitting him, Kurt!" Mercedes said, looking like she was about to go over the edge of Annoyed as Shit straight into the pit of Pissed as Hell. "How the hell does *hitting* him solve the damn problem? Not that there's a damn problem to be solved! You really think that he's purposely hurting himself? He's Karofsky, for God's sake! All you ever do is say what a clumsy oaf he is!"

"M-Master Hummel, um, w-would you like, perhaps, to go, um, try the refreshments in our waiting area, Sir?"

Kurt turned, ready to let loose on the little slave girl for interrupting his argument but took pity when he saw the look on its face. Poor thing was probably afraid there would be a repeat of the Great Food Court Catastrophe right in the middle of its master's store. They *had* told her that Sam was Mercedes' slave, having thrown one of her necklaces around his neck as a makeshift collar, so that they wouldn't have to explain *why* they wanted him fitted in slavewear.

Sam's muscles were very obvious, considering he was standing on a pedestal in the middle of the shop wearing nothing but a thong, looking like a Greek God on display. And Dave was a damn big boy. This poor ragamuffin was probably having visions of them leaping at each other, swinging clothing trees and mannequins as weapons as they dueled to the death for their masters' pleasure. The blood would *never* come out of the off-the-rack clothing and, since the slave was no doubt owned by a corporation, they might very well have the innocent little thing put down for not being able to stop it.

"No," he replied shortly. "We would not like to take refreshments in the waiting room. Continue with the fitting, slave." The words were harsh, but he made a point of easing himself back onto one of the plush leather couches that ringed the little stage where Sam was standing, and Mercedes reluctantly followed his lead.

The retail slave's whole body seemed to relax as he and Mercedes pointedly took seats far from one another and it returned to the pedestal, pulling the tape measure back out of its little kit. Sam had a very annoyed look on his face, and Kurt had to resist the urge not to reach out and slap *him,* too.

After his little crying in the bathroom routine, Sam had turned surprisingly angry, making sharp comments to Kurt every time he got a chance and making a fuss about every little thing. 'Oh no, will *I* have to do that?' 'There is no way that *I'm* doing that!' Hell, you would have thought he'd never seen a tourist gimmick when he gaped at the sign reading 'On the Shoulders of Slaves, Where Transportation Began - Litter Rides, $200/hour'. Yes, you could rent a sedan chair and have a bunch of hot, shirtless mall slaves carry you around on a little platform hoisted on their shoulders. He'd been even *more* shocked when Mercedes had agreed to ride on one, pouting with his big lips as he walked from store to store alongside the platform with Dave. As if there had ever been a chance of Mercedes refusing resist being carried around in what looked like a throne by six gorgeous males with bulging muscles and carved chests. No girl was *that* liberationist.

But Sam's attitude had quickly gotten old, especially considering that the bank would be officially seizing him the day after tomorrow. Not to mention that he would go ahead and start slave classes tomorrow morning so that Dave could see how he managed as a slave before actual training so that they would know how best to help him. Really, Sam just needed to suck it up. Kurt understood that he was angry and afraid. But there was nothing they could do to change it, so he really needed to deal and quit whining—because all that would get him in the future was whip marks on his back.

"Look, Mercedes," Kurt said, voice a little cool. "This stuff today? No accident. The clumsy oaf is an *act.* Dave is not stupid and it's *definitely* not clumsy. Stupid, clumsy slaves don't sell for what my grandfather bought it for, trust me."

Mercedes blinked, looking surprised. "He was expensive?" She shook her head in disbelief. "He doesn't seem like the expensive type."

Kurt had to grit his teeth to keep from snapping back something very rude and very anatomically incorrect, and he could hear Dave shifting around behind him, no doubt annoyed as hell. He just had to remember that Mercedes had no idea that she had just ruthlessly insulted Kurt. She didn't realize that there was no insult worse than implying—or in this case, coming out and saying—that someone kept a cheap slave as their prized possession. "Yes, Mercedes," he said shortly. "Dave was *very* expensive—and worth every cent. But my point is, the clumsy thing is just an act and all these little 'accidents,'" he made quotation marks in the air, "were no damn accident! The big, dumb bully is just a goddamn act!"

"Then he deserves an Emmy for it," Sam muttered from the pedestal, causing Kurt to glare at the boy.

"Sam, just shut up, okay?" Kurt snapped, the verbal kick to the nuts Mercedes had just given him *not* making his mood any better.

The other boy scowled, his attitude definitely not bettered by the retail slave wrapping a measuring tape around his groin. "What did you say to me?"

Kurt gave a soft snort. Someone was obviously trying to invoke their last few minutes of power.

"Master Kurt said to shut up, Mr. Sam," Dave answered, its tone once again *way* to innocent to be real. "And I believe that a 'the fuck' was implied between the 'shut' and the 'up' in Master's words, Sir."

Kurt clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. Why, why, *why* had he ever started that Word A Day calendar shit? This was *why* they didn't want slaves to know fancy words. Of course, if it hadn't known the word 'implied,' it probably would have just said 'but he really meant shut the fuck up, nitwit,' so maybe the fancier version was better after all.

Kurt turned in his seat to glare at his slave. "Now *you* shut the fuck up, David. I am sick of you and I am sick of your little accidents. What is going on?"

Mercedes threw her hands up in a dramatic way. Damn diva. "God, Kurt, he just misjudged the size of the panties! You've worn thongs! You know that if you're not careful those evil little pieces of elastic will come back and snap you on the butt!"

Kurt let out an irritated sigh. Or he meant for it to be an irritated sigh, anyway. It came off more like a growl, but whatever. "Snap you in the *butt*, Mercedes. They will snap you in the butt. Key word being 'butt.' It put the damn thing on *backward* and snapped itself in the *balls!* The *balls*, Mercedes! You really think it *accidentally* put a thong on *backward*?"

The girl paused for a moment, looking slightly less sure of herself as she eyed Dave, which was really saying something considering what a big know it all she was. "It *is* possible. He's a jock, after all, not some Glee boy!"

"Aaaaaaarrrrr!" It wasn't a very dignified sound, but it encompassed how Kurt felt at the moment pretty well. He smacked his hand down on the back of the couch, making the retail slave still measuring away at Sam jump a little. "It wasn't an accident, Mercedes! It is punishing itself and I want to know *why*!"

Hell, there were a lot of 'why's' Kurt would like to know at the moment. Like 'why' he had ever offered to help Sam. And 'why' he had agreed to bring Mercedes along to this damn mall! And 'why' he had decided to crawl out of his goddamn bed that morning!

"Why in the world would he punish himself, Kurt? And he is a 'he,' so please quit calling him an 'it.'" Mercedes leaned forward in her seat, looking annoyed. The retail slave was eyeing them again so Kurt purposefully scooted as far as he could, to the end of his couch, far from Mercedes. It would probably annoy the hell out of the sassy girl—he seriously doubted she had even noticed how much trauma they were causing the poor retail slave—but at least the little slave girl could relax some.

"I mean, it makes no sense," she continued, practically spitting out the words. "You are reading craziness into *everything*! He has a few little accidents and suddenly he's punishing himself? How paranoid can you be?"

"Mercedes," Kurt said, trying to sound as calm as possible. He really needed to diffuse the conversation before one of the elites walking by the big display window saw them at each others' throats and called security to warn them about a possible slave fight. "Since we left home, slave Dave had shut *his* hand in the car door, tripped on *his* own leash, spilled scalding hot tea on *his* right nipple—and only on his right nipple, I might add, not a single drop on the floor—stubbed *his* toe on a kiosk, cut *his* cheek on a flying toy, and snapped the elastic strands of a backward thong against *his* balls." He paused, quirking an eyebrow in Dave's direction. "Oh, and he picked something nasty out of a trash can and ate it." Dave's eyes widened and Kurt smirked. "Thought I didn't see that one, did you?" He turned back to Mercedes. "That sounds like an awful lot of accidents to me."

Mercedes' eyes narrowed a little, a sour but contemplative look coming over her face. What was she contemplating, the scientific probabilities of these things all happening in a four hour period? Figuring out the exact percentage of people who have stupid accidents in a certain range of time?

"Dave," she said finally, turning all her attention to the slave. "You're *not* punishing yourself are you? Because if you were punishing yourself, well, I *know* it would be for something very silly that I *know* wasn't even a big deal and I *know* that it wouldn't be something I want."

Okay, just how blind did she think Kurt was? Put a little more emphasis on 'know' and she might as well have been testifying in court. Kurt used the leash to tug Dave forward and downward, until it was bent down enough to be at eye-level with Kurt. "Okay, what did you do?"

Dave closed its eyes, a miserable look coming over its face and Kurt sighed. "What did you *do,* David?"

Its eyes opened, shifting over to Mercedes and it took everything Kurt had not to just smack it upside the head. God, people really needed to stop pressing him today—he'd been dealing with a lot of stuff that resulted in him having to give 'everything he had' not to do something nasty.

"David?"

Its eyes jerked back to Kurt and it seemed to shrink down. "I'm sorry, Master—"

"Dammit, Dave!" Mercedes stood up, hands on her hips. "I told you that it was no big deal!"

"Told you that what was no big deal, slave David?" Kurt said very calmly, despite the fact that he was starting to get very, very pissed. Most of the anger was actually aimed in Mercedes' direction, but no need for his slave to know that until it explained what, exactly, it had been keeping secret from him. Kurt really couldn't imagine what Dave would want to keep from him. Unless… unless… No. There was no way. Was there? He'd already thought this through and decided there was no way. Absolutely no way. Kurt shot a glance in Mercedes' direction, lips tightening as he took in her skimpy gold top. Okay, maybe there was a way. Damn those male-catching breasts! Boobs that size were like a fucking venus fly trap for men!

"Master, I didn't mean to do it, I swear." Dave's voice was a little frantic and Kurt's stomach started to feel a little queasy. "It is no excuse, but with the things Miss Mercedes said, I just couldn't stop myself!" The slave shook its head, looking disgusted with itself. "I-I shoved her onto your bed, Master. I-I am so sorry."

Kurt's mouth dropped open, a sudden fury rushing through him. Not only did her breasts go and distract his slave, they distracted it right onto *his* bed?

"It wasn't his fault, Kurt," Mercedes said, moving toward him. "Dave's right, I started it. The things I said… It just got him going and he couldn't hold it back. I understand. Please don't be angry at him."

Kurt yanked suddenly at Dave's leash, pulling it at an angle that sent the boy toppling to the ground, way too many emotions rushing through him. No, not way too many emotions. He was mad. *Just* mad. Mad that Mercedes had used *his* property without permission. Mad that Dave would let those *woman traits* distract it from being a good slave. Kurt was totally and completely mad. Not hurt. He was not hurt at all. Or jealous. Why should he be hurt or jealous? It was just a slave. *His* slave. Property. He was not—

Oh, fuck it. He was hurt and jealous. Damn them both to hell!

Dave cowered on the floor as Kurt stood, glaring furiously at Mercedes. The little retail slave let out a whimper, looking terrified, which it damn well should be since Kurt was seriously considering a brawl. Oh, but there would be no slaves involved. Kurt could cat fight with the best of the bitches!

"You made out with my slave? What the hell happened to your precious liberation values, huh, Mercedes? Or is that why you want to free it so bad? So you and Dave can run off together?" He snarled—literally snarled—as he looked down at his slave. "And you? Are you so desperate to breed that some breasts walk into the room and everything you've ever learned about etiquette and obedience dribbles right out of your head?"

Dave blinked up at him, a shocked look on its face. "B-breasts? I-I no breasts caused me to… dribble… Master." It flinched. "That didn't sound right… Master, I don't care about breasts! I-I've never really thought about breasts in my life! I mean, other than the fact that they look kind of funny! And certainly not Miss Mercedes' breasts! I mean, I thought about them once because it was Tag the Titties day—uh, I mean, Wednesday—and Azimio and Puckerman tried to draw them on Brett's chest but couldn't really draw them to scale cause Brett's kinda skinny and they're kinda big, but I didn't really think of them in a dribbling way, actually, I think breasts are kind of scary, oh my God, I should stop talking now, this is why slaves should be silent, but really I swear I've never, ever been distracted by breasts! And I would never have made out with Miss Mercedes, I mean, I would have let her make out with me if she wanted because I really couldn't stop it 'cause she's a freewoman but I totally would have just laid there and never, ever done anything. I've never even thought about doing that stuff with anyone, I mean, I really can't, I've never even had an erection in my life, though sometimes it tries, but never for Miss Mercedes' weirdly large breasts, I swear!"

Kurt blinked as the word vomit finally stopped flowing, his breath coming a little too fast. "So… so you *didn't*—"

"Of course we didn't!" Mercedes cut in, looking shocked. "Why in the hell would you think we'd do that? Are you *crazy*? I don't even *like* Karofsky! God, Kurt, have you lost your mind?"

"Dude, I thought it was against the Mighty Titan Man Team rules to tell anyone about Tag the Titties Day," Sam said from the platform, looking troubled. "Puck and Strando are totally going to hoist you up the flagpole for that."

Mercedes and Kurt both turned to stare at Sam, mouths hanging open, and even Dave raised its head up enough to look at him in disbelief.

"*That* was what you got from all this, Sam?" Mercedes question in annoyance. "Really?"

Sam cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. "Sorry, um, Strando's just kind of scary…"

Kurt rolled his eyes. *Men.* "Sam, why don't you practice your 'silent slave' routine. And, for God's sake, don't follow David's example!"

Kurt glanced back at his slave, feeling unkindly satisfied at how red Dave's cheeks were.

"I'm sorry, Master—"

"You have nothing to be sorry about," Mercedes shot back. "Except, possibly, for *ever* talking about *my* womanly curves with your nasty little friends! Kurt here is the one who seems to think I'm some loose woman, looking for love in my gay best friend's bedroom!"

Kurt's face flushed in a strange mix of embarrassment and anger. Maybe he *had* jumped to conclusions. But, dammit, he did not like the idea of *his* slave looking at Mercedes like that. "Fine! Then what, exactly, did you say to Dave to make it push you onto the bed and ravish you?"

"Ravish—damn it, Kurt! He said he pushed me onto the bed, not that he ravished me!"

"Master, please, listen—it was all my fault," Dave spoke up, words flowing a little too fast. Hopefully he'd be able to swallow down the vomit-speak and make some verbal sense this time. "I was angry and pushed Miss Mercedes. But then she didn't want you to punish me, Sir, so she made me promise not to tell you. And I look forward to my punishment for that after my punishment for my original wrong is finished, which may be very, very far in the future because I was very, very bad. But I have already begun my punishment, Master."

Kurt's eyebrows shot up. It had *pushed* Mercedes? It, the slave, under no pretense of being an oafish jock, had pushed a freewoman? Physically assaulted her? It was almost unbelievable.

Mercedes smacked her own thigh in annoyance, the sound making Dave jump. "Dammit, Dave! I told you it was okay! No big deal. You agreed to no punishment!"

Dave licked its lips, a distinct sign of nervousness. "Actually, I agreed not to go to Master for punishment. I didn't say that I wouldn't punish myself."

Kurt's anger flared again and this time it was one hundred percent directed at Mercedes. Damn that girl and her good intentions, fucking up everything! Mercedes had no idea what she could have done, making Dave promise that! Kurt had no doubt that, for such a major offense, it would probably have ended up doing something that could have seriously hurt it.

"Are you out of your *mind*? There is a reason that slaves are expected to tell their masters when they've done something wrong, Mercedes!"

"So you can feel all powerful and manly when you beat them?" she shot back, eyes flashing. As if Kurt had ever given a damn about feeling 'manly.' Feeling up manly men, sure. But manly himself? Ha.

"No, Mercedes! God, you are so damn ignorant! Slaves *need* punishment when they do something bad! They crave it! And they *will* find a way to get it, from their master or not!"

"That is a load of bull," Mercedes replied haughtily. "I am sick of all this stuff about Born-slaves being a different species! They're just humans, Kurt. Humans! And they are not born desperate to serve a master and craving punishment like it's molten chocolate cake!"

"Fine," Kurt snapped back. "You know what, Mercedes? I'll give you that. I've never been sure where I stand, exactly, on this whole Darwinian theory of rapid slave evolution or whatever. Maybe slaves *weren't* born that way. But they *have* been trained since goddamn *birth* to be a certain way, and I can't just deprogram that in an instant, even if I wanted to! Dave has been taught since before it remembers that punishment is the *only* way to make amends with the person that is basically your parent figure! Refusing to punish a slave would be like you cussing out your dad and, instead of him grounding you, he just refuses to talk to you and the fight is never resolved and you're just expected to feel guilty about it forever. It's ingrained in a slave's psyche, to be that way! So if a master doesn't punish them, they'll do it themselves!" Kurt took a deep breath, trying to slow the rush of adrenaline racing through him.

"Listen Mercedes," he said once his voice was somewhat calmer. "I promise you, when we punish slaves, we're protecting them from themselves. Because I have met some damn harsh masters, but I have never seen anyone come up with more torturously creative punishments than a slave!" Kurt shook his head. "The first thing my grandparents ever taught me about being a slavemaster is that the cruelest thing you can do is refuse to punish a slave for something it does wrong and then order it not to punish itself, either. It will make them feel ashamed and worthless, and it will make all its fellow slaves look down on it. It's just plain cruel."

Mercedes crossed her arms over her 'womanly curves,' as she put it, making a face. "Oh, come on. That's stupid. Okay, so maybe Dave *has* been punishing himself. But I don't think spilling tea on himself or purposely stubbing his toe is anywhere NEAR as bad as whatever made all those scars on his body!"

Kurt opened his mouth, but before he could shoot back a sassy reply, Dave's voice came from below them, soft and nervous.

"M-Master, if I may speak?" Kurt raised an eyebrow, as he looked down to study his slave, still hunched down on the floor. Okay… Dave wanted to talk about punishment? To Mercedes? Maybe Kurt should just let it talk. The slave had certainly freaked Kurt out when he was a little boy—hell the 'dominance' part of training still bothered him enough that he just sent Dave back to its handlers at the estate every couple of weeks so that he didn't have to 'dominate' it himself. Maybe its weird way of thinking would scare some sense into Mercedes.

"Go ahead."

Dave took a deep breath, tilting its head up to look Mercedes in the eye. "I made at least half of these marks myself, Miss Mercedes," it said quietly, running a big finger along one of many the thin, white lines on its chest. The chest hair partially concealed them, as did its pale skin, but they were still obviously there. Just another part of Dave's beauty.

Thin scars such as the ones on Dave's chest were not considered disfiguring for slave, but were actually considered a form of 'beauty mark.' Other scars, that did more than just create soft lines along the body, or scars on the face, were seen as distasteful, but long lines that wrapped around the body and ran down the back or chest were actually coveted by many masters, hence the common use of a whip rather than a flogger when slaves were in training. Kurt wasn't exactly sure how the fashion came about, or why, but then who the hell had invented trends like high heels or corsets or, God help them all, *body piercings*? People's sense of beauty could be kind of absurd. Scarification, it was called. Some masters even purposely carved images into their slaves with razors. Kurt had once seen a slave boy with angel's wings that ran from its upper shoulders down to its buttocks, each feather a healed scar. It had gone for over a million dollars at auction.

"Some of the scars are from trainers and masters, but no one trainer or master has ever come close to putting as many scars on my body as I did myself." Its tongue flicked out, eyes shifting over to Kurt then quickly back to Mercedes. "The one time Master Kurt left marks was by accident—Master did not understand what the whip his grandparents had gifted him with would do. But I did. I knew before he ever struck me that it would cut cleanly and deeply. That it would be immensely painful, painful enough to make me cry. But I misunderstood and thought that's what he wanted. And… and for what I had done, I felt I deserved no less."

Kurt gritted his teeth. Dave hadn't deserved that, not for anything, much less a stupid egg covered in jewels. Kurt had a lot of things that had belonged to his mother. Dave's whipping hadn't even *really* been about what he'd broken. It had been about Kurt being angry and wanting to take it out on someone. Something. Whatever.

"Master was so upset by my deserved punishment, it made him be sick and cry. But I… I was *glad* that he had punished me, Miss Mercedes. And even though I cried and begged forgiveness, it was what I wanted. In fact, afterward I felt like I deserved to be punished even more for being the reason for Master Kurt's tears."

A lump grew in Kurt's throat and he reached out without thinking to run his fingers through Dave's hair. "That wasn't your fault, puppy. I made myself cry. You had nothing to do with it." Actually, it had everything to do with it. But the *fault* lay with Kurt. Dave had just been… the victim, he supposed, though he knew Grandma Annabeth would not like the term. But, in Kurt's mind, there *was* such a thing as too harsh a punishment. If he couldn't stomach it, a slave definitely shouldn't have to take it. Which is why he *never* let Dave punish itself—because it would always manage to come up with *something* that Kurt couldn't stomach.

Dave rolled its head at Kurt's touch, almost like a dog looking for more pets, then turned its attention back to Mercedes. "I was raised at a training estate. It was very well known, and only the best trainers worked there. But that meant that the trainers were always very busy. So if we did something wrong, we were expected to punish ourselves. It is what a good slave does when their master is busy. I would whip myself then stitch up any cuts left by the singletail whip. If I couldn't reach them, another slave would stitch them up. I *couldn't* not punish myself. The shame… it wouldn't go away until I was fairly punished." It shrugged, looking a little tired. "I know you probably can't understand how I feel, Miss Mercedes, but if you're really going to try and help slaves you should know… If we are not punished for what we do, it makes us miserable." It lowered its head. "And… for what happened between us? I deserve a lot of punishment, Miss Mercedes. I… I attacked you." It made a choked sound. "Slaves can be put down for that, or declared rebels and be given to the pound. My punishment should be very long and very great."

The shame in its voice was almost painful, it was so strong, and Kurt frowned deeply as he stared at its hunched form. Dave's little self-punishments had been continuous, but nowhere near what would be considered appropriate for an attack on a freewoman. Not that Kurt really thought Dave was to blame for that—his slave had never, ever attacked anyone without Kurt's at least implied permission. *Something* had gone bad there and it had Mercedes written all over it. But he had other things to deal with at the moment.

"Dave," he said, voice low as he looked the slave up and down. Kurt's eyes narrowed. Its legs were very tightly drawn together, it was taking deep, steadying breaths, and there was a stiff tension to its jaw. All signs of… Oh, God. Dammit, Dave! "David, when did you last urinate?" His words were clipped, short. Kurt was not a happy masteer.

The slave looked up with wide eyes. "Master?"

"Wow, you guys are really close, huh?" Sam questioned, the tone of his voice making it clear that it was more than just another one of his stupid geek jokes. "You whip together, you pee together… And you wonder why this slave thing is bothering me?" The retail slave's mouth dropped open at the words and it shook its head in disgusted disbelief. It was obvious that someone thought Sam deserved a whipping.

"Okay, that is it!" Kurt said, glaring at Sam. "Listen here, Mr. McLips! I am sorry that you are standing in the middle of a slavewear store wearing three inches of cloth while a bunch of strangers measure the precise angle of your buttocks! But *I* did not get you here! You are swinging from one end of the emotional spectrum to the other so fast it's giving me a headache! I get it—you're scared! But you need to stop crying in my bathroom and start dealing with what is happening! I get it—you're freaked out! But you are going to see much stranger things than you have today at this damn mall once you go into training, so I suggest you get over it! And I get it—you're angry! But your parents got you here, not me—I am only trying to help—so I suggest you stop being a sassy bitch to everyone because the slave trainers aren't going to care how sad and horrible your life is, they're just going to beat the shit out of you if you are rude to them! I think it is about time you lay off the smart lines or I swear I will start your training early with a punch to the face, my manicure be damned!"

"If Master is willing to break a nail then Master is very serious," Dave added for good measure, its voice very dry.

Kurt turned back around, glaring down at it. "Ha ha! Very funny. But don't think that Sam opening his monumentally large mouth is going to get you out of answering my question, David! When did you last pee, slave?"

Dave immediately dropped its eyes, nervously chewing at its lip. "Um…"

"Um is not an answer. When. Did you last. *Urinate?*"

Mercedes made a confused sound. "I'm sorry, but I'm kind of with Sam here, Kurt. Why *do* you need to know when he last peed?"

"Because," Kurt said, voice clipped, "that is one of its *favorite* ways to horribly punish itself. Like the Sound of Music, slave style. Everybody sing! 'Starving all summer and hands in hot kettles, eating hot peppers and cutting with metal, refusing to pee while it listens to rain, these are a few of its favorite pains!'"

Mercedes grimaced and Kurt couldn't blame her—Julie Andrews would be appalled.

"Have you ever *really* needed to go, Mercedes? I mean really, *really* needed to go? It becomes *painful.* Very painful."

The look on the girl's face was priceless as what was going on finally sunk in, and Kurt let out a short laugh, despite the fact that he was very much *not* amused.

"That's right. You get it now, don't you? And you know what? Dave here asked me specifically, just before we got in the car, if it could go get itself some water. Now I'm thinking it may have drunk a *little* more than could be considered normal. How fast *can* you chug a gallon?"

Dave's face had turned a deep shade of red. Looked like Kurt had struck gold. In liquid form, unfortunately.

"When did you last *piss,* David."

It cleared its throat, looking uncomfortable. "Um… I think last night, Master?" It bowed its head lower. "Maybe yesterday afternoon?"

"And how much *water* did you drink before we left?"

It didn't answer and Kurt reached out, grabbing its hair and using it to tug its face up. "David?" His voice had a warning tone.

"Um… A little more than a gallon? Definitely not *two* gallons, Master. It was definitely less than two gallons. Two gallons would have made me sick, so definitely less than two."

Oh, gee, well, as long as it was less than *two.*

God, with the hour long drive to the mall combined with the time they'd spent wandering around listening to Sam freak out over everything, that had been almost four hours ago. And it hadn't peed since yesterday. Lovely. "Dave, do you have to pee?"

Its shoulders tightened. "Master, what I did was very bad—"

"David, I don't care if you ripped out Barbara Streisand's vocal cords—and I know no other greater sin than that—you do *not* punish yourself by restricting natural bodily functions! We have been *over* this! I do not want you in that kind of pain, nor do I want you to lose control and wet yourself in *my* damn car!"

"I have very good control, Master. I was trained—"

"I don't care if they trained you to hold it in until the oceans dried up and there was nothing left but your piss to fill it back up! We do *not* do that! It is sadistic and, more importantly, it's really freaking gross! Go to the bathroom and pee, right now!"

For an instant it looked like Dave might protest—slaves really did have a thing for punishment—but then it let out a small sigh and climbed to its feet a little awkwardly, looking unhappy. Kurt frowned. Looking *very* unhappy. Unusually unhappy, even for an order it didn't like. In fact, it almost looked… *pained.* Even more pained than needing to piss would make it. Like, terribly pained.

Kurt gritted his teeth. Would this day ever get any better? "David? What else have you done to punish yourself?"

It blinked, its cheeks growing red again. Bingo.

"Don't pretend like there isn't something else. You just looked like you were about to shit a goose when you stood up just then. And you're usually pretty damn graceful when it comes to kneeling and rising. What did you *do*?"

Dave hunched its shoulders a little, looking embarrassed. "Um… I may have, um, inserted one of the, um," it glanced nervously at Mercedes, "*special* toys before we left. One of the ones that are, uh, supposed to stay, um, *up* there for awhile."

Supposed to stay *up* there for awhile? Oh, fabulous. It was wearing a butt plug. "And just which of these special toys are we talking about, David?" Kurt asked through gritted teeth.

"Um, the biggest one, Master? The, uh, big pink one?"

Kurt's mouth dropped open. Had it lost all sense whatsoever? It was walking around with a butt plug as thick as Kurt's fist up its ass? 'Ow' didn't quite cover it. In fact, Kurt wasn't sure how it was walking at all! That 'special toy' had been a fucking gag gift!

"Are you *insane*? What if it slipped and ripped your colon apart or something, David?" Kurt knew he sounded a little frantic but dear God—that thing was fucking huge. It was not meant for wearing around the goddamn mall—hell, he wasn't even sure who they marketed those things to because you couldn't *pay* him to try and stick anything that big up his rear end! And he was a gay man!

"I-I did think of that, Master, but I thought it would probably be no less than I deserved for… for what I did to Miss Mercedes." It sounded miserable and Kurt's stomach clenched. Damn Mercedes, damn her to hell! Ten minutes alone with her and his slave was so flooded with shame that it was looking to rupture it's colon. Was that what liberationists wanted? If so, Kurt hoped they all got caught in one of their own little psycho group's car bombs.

"And leave your Master slaveless, David?" Kurt reached out and slapped its face, though what he really wanted to do was take his fist to Mercedes'. His slave could have *killed* itself because of her stupid ideas!

"You go!" Kurt opened his Coach bag, pulling out the Slave Claim tag he'd been given at the door, pinning it to Dave's shirt so that everyone would know that Dave was privately owned and that its master was expecting its immediate return. One of the reasons Kurt liked this mall so much was that the owner had apparently gotten tired of having to clean up the messes left when elites randomly mounted unescorted slaves. It tended to ruin merchandise, as well as causing fights between slavemasters. So he had instigated a safety system. You mounted a tagged slave, they charged your credit card ten thousand dollars, banned you from the mall for a year, and put all your relatives on probation, making anyone from your family House sign in at the door and wear a special badge that basically announced their disgrace. The money was not such a big deal, but having your family called out like a naughty child… unacceptable.

A lot of elites were offended by the rules, but Kurt was glad for them. The last thing he ever wanted was a repeat of that horrible night last fall. Dave had been on its way home from football practice, just enjoying the nice weather, and some elite sons-of-bitches had cornered it on an empty road and mounted it. His pet had shown up hours later covered in its own vomit, clothes torn and dirtied. It had fallen flat on the floor, totally prostrate as it begged forgiveness. And it had damn near broken Kurt's heart when Dave had reached into its jacket and pulled out a handful of bright, beautiful leaves and whispered, "These are for Master. I'm sorry." He'd had to bury his face in its neck to hide his tears.

"And when you get to the bathroom, you pee *and* you remove that thing." He shoved his bag into its hands. "Take it out and put it in the bag—and for God's sake, make sure you wash it before you do!"

"But Master," it said, sounding miserable. "I deserve—"

"We'll discuss punishments later, David. For what you did to Mercedes *and* for punishing yourself in ways you know that I don't approve of!"

Dave nodded reluctantly and headed out the door, head hung low.

Kurt rubbed at his eyes tiredly as he watched it walk away, then, when it was safely out of earshot, he turned to Mercedes, an irate look on his face. "Dammit, Mercedes! What did it *really* do—because I know it didn't full out attack you or you'd be in the damn hospital—and why the hell did you tell it not to tell me? It probably had plans to shut its hands in the oven!"

Mercedes stared back at him, her posture still screaming her superiority, but the look in her eyes making it obvious that she was beginning to feel guilty. Good. She deserved to feel bad.

"Look, it was no big deal, okay?" Mercedes said, looking embarrassed. "He just sort of pushed me, alright? And we fell back onto the bed and he landed on top of me. He sort of lost it because of some things I said." She bit her lower lip, looking genuinely sorry. "I really didn't mean to upset him. I-I thought it would make him happy."

"And just what did you say that you thought would 'make him happy'?" Kurt questioned coldly.

Mercedes took a deep breath. "I, well, I basically told him that he didn't need to take abuse from you anymore and that I was going to help free him." She looked down. "I don't think he liked any of it, but especially the part about you abusing him."

"E-excuse me, Master Hummel?" came the retail slave's voice. Kurt glanced over, about to snap at it to fuck off, but he choked back the words when he saw its face. If he had thought the retail slave had looked upset before, well, it was nothing to what it looked like now. It had probably heard their entire exchange and thought they were absolutely insane. A pair of crazy elite youth in the store it had been ordered to run. And the elite youth could be *very* crazy sometimes. That's kind of what happened when you were allowed to get away with anything. Kurt's father, at least, had some rules.

"Yes?"

"S-sir, we have finished taking the slave's measurements, sir. The garments you chose from the catalog will be prepared for it within the hour, sir. I shall take them to the seamstress slaves immediately, Master Hummel, sir. If you would like to take some time to shop, please feel free, sir. Otherwise… otherwise there are refreshments available in the waiting room, sir."

"Good," Kurt replied, waving a hand in silent dismissal. The poor thing practically ran to the back room, measurements in hand, probably praying to whatever god slaves worshipped that they would get the fuck out of it store.

"Does that mean I can put my clothes back on now?" Sam asked sourly as he stepped off the pedestal.

"Do whatever you want," Kurt replied shortly, not wanting to deal with the boy's attitude at the moment. He was sorry Sam was so upset, but he was much more worried about his own slave than some pile of teenaged angst at the moment. "So you insulted me and David attacked you?" Kurt tried to keep his voice neutral, but it was a serious offense. Slaves were very defensive of their masters, but one comment should *not* have triggered that kind of reaction against a freewoman. It just wasn't normal, especially not for a slave as good as Dave. If she had been threatening Kurt in some way, that would have been different. Any slave would be glad to risk being put down to protect its master from harm. But just for one little comment?

Kurt frowned. What could have made Dave act like that? It was perfectly obedient almost all the time. Occassionally, it could be a bit mouthy, especially when alone with Kurt, but that was only because Kurt encouraged it over the years to joke freely with him and act casually around him. But for him to shove a freewoman was just madness…

…Except that it hadn't been just any freewoman. It had been Mercedes Jones, McKinley High diva, hip-hop fashionista extraordinaire, and—like all of the members of Glee who didn't moonlight at jocks or Cheerios—bottom of the high school food chain. Slave Dave had never shoved Miss Mercedes before, but Dave Karofsky had pushed Mercedes Jones around plenty of times. In fact, Dave Karofsky had thrown more than a few slushies in her face. He'd even ruined her weave once. Kurt had never considered what it would be like for Dave to be a true slave around people it had been acting almost like a freeman around for years. Kurt supposed he'd thought it was something Dave would just be able to switch on and off. After all, it worked at home. Dave was always 'slave Dave of Trainer Karofsky' at home, never 'Dave Karofsky, jock from McKinley High.' But then it had *always* been slave Dave at home. And at McKinley it had always been Dave Karofsky. Now the two worlds were being mixed and it was entirely possible that it was going to be a more difficult process than Kurt had imagined. It just wasn't possible to be both a freeman and a slave. Sam and Dave were both testaments to that, in their own ways.

Kurt let out a loud sigh, pushing aside the thoughts for later analyzation. He needed to deal with the problem at hand. "Okay, Mercedes. Just in the future, please try your best to refrain from riling my slave into insanity then silently encouraging it to punish itself in creative ways. Because it is *very* creative and the things we've *noticed* this afternoon are, quite likely, just the tip of the iceberg of what's actually been done."

Mercedes *finally* looked appropriately guilty. "Okay, Kurt. I really am sorry… I didn't realize he'd try to punish himself."

"Well, maybe you should take some time to learn about slaves before you try and interact with them like they're just another human being?" Kurt suggested, a little cooly. He was still not particularly thrilled with 'Miss Mercedes' at the moment. "Even if they are truly people, that *doesn't* mean they think just like you do."

Mercedes opened her mouth, hopefully to agree, but was interrupted by Sam's return.

"Hey guys," the boy said, back from the dressing area and once again dressed in enough sweatshirts that you could hardly tell who he was, a hoodie pulled up over his head and just about every inch of skin hidden from the world. Kurt hoped he enjoyed being able to dress like that while he could because it wasn't going to last for long. "So, uh, these clothes… They're just gonna make them, like, custom for me right now? Or were they feeling me up for an hour just for the fun of it?"

Kurt took a deep breath, exactly like his yoga teacher had instructed. Breathe in the good through the nose, release the bad through the mouth… He would cleanse himself of all negativity—oh, screw it. It wasn't going to happen. No calming technique was going to bring him down from this mountain of tension. He might as well just run with it.

"Yes, Sam," Kurt said sarcastically, "that little slave girl was just feeling you up for the fun of it." Kurt bent down to pick-up the hard-backed, fancy looking catalog he'd been flipping through. "I chose you a couple of outfits, just basic attire for a slave" He opened it to one of the marked pages, pointing to an image of a male slave in a fairly conservative pair of slave shorts. They were black spandex but, unlike Dave's tiny shorts, they had padding at the groin and buttocks that hid the 'private parts' and went from the waist almost to the knees, not unlike the Under Armor they sold for athletes. "These will be for the rest of the summer and indoor use. Then we have some styles for cooler weather—"

"Wait a second," Sam interrupted. "*That's* what I'm supposed to wear?"

The shock in his voice made Kurt look up. The boy's face was actually drained of all color as he stood there, a terrified look on his face.

"Th-they're so tight! I can't wear that! Especially since I won't be in Weight Watchers anymore! I eat way too many Doritos!" His eyes narrowed as he looked at Kurt suspiciously. "Maybe *Mercedes* should choose what slave clothes I get, Kurt. I think you may be a little… biased in your choices."

Kurt felt his cheeks redden. Why the hell did every guy always assume his goal in life what to strip them down? You try to sing one damn duet with a boy and they think you're after their ass for the rest of eternity!

"These are actually rather conservative, Sam," he informed the boy in a clipped tone. "Trust me—there is nothing in the damn catalog that you will like any better!" Kurt gave a short laugh. "Besides, if you think Mercedes wants a chance to stare at your abs any less than I do, you're a fool."

Sam scowled and turned toward Mercedes. "See? He just admitted he wants to see my body! I am *not* wearing anything that tight!"

Surprisingly, it was Mercedes who narrowed her eyes and glared at Sam in annoyance this time. "Okay, you know what, I am totally against slavery and I totally understand that losing your freedom can put you in a bad mood. But by this time the day after tomorrow, some people are going to have you who are allowed to do *whatever they want* to you, Sam! It's time to stop acting shocked over everything and just accept that you're going to have to deal with this stuff until we get some money to bail you out, alright? You've seen what Dave wears! Those shorts aren't that bad—I've seen some of the jocks wearing stuff like that to practice in. At least they don't make you look like you're waiting for your turn to audition for a gay porno like Dave's do!"

"Maybe Dave looks like a porn star because Kurt wants him to!" Sam protested, obviously willing to chase even the smallest hint of hope that he wouldn't have dress like a slave.

"You know what, Sam? You are totally right," Kurt snapped. "All other slavemasters dress their slaves in turtle neck sweaters and thick cotton trousers. Except us gay ones. All those skimpily dressed slaves you've seen since we entered the mall were owned by homosexuals. What can I say, we have a lot of gays in the elites! Hell, we even warrant our own name—the gaylites!" Kurt's voice was practically dripping with sarcasm. God, he was tired of this. "Sam, it's like this. Slaves are supposed to have a pair of tight 'slave shorts' as we call them, in case they need to quickly put on casual clothing to wear in front of commoners. Then they can easily strip back down afterward."

Sam just stared at the catalog for another moment, doing his nickname of 'trouty mouth' great honor, then shook his head disbelievingly. "I know Dave doesn't wear those little shorts under his clothes at school—"

"Because Dave has no problem whatsoever with standing around butt naked if it needs to strip down," Kurt cut in, at his wit's end. This was turning out to be a *very* taxing day—and somehow he thought it would probably only get worse from here. "It is perfectly acceptable for a slave to be naked. Trust me, these shorts are much nicer than anything you're going to get at whatever cheap training program the bank decides to stick you in. If they give you *anything.* They may want to save a dime and go for that aforementioned 'butt naked' look."

And Kurt had thought Sam couldn't look anymore terrified.

"Sam," Mercedes said, stepping up to him, face serious as she reached up and slid her hands into his hoodie to cup his face with her palms. "I know this is very frightening for you. I can't imagine how terrifying it would be to know that someone has the legal right to take away my freedom. I know you're upset at the world, and I know you would rather just push all this out of your mind and not deal with it. You're going through the grieving process: denial, anger, mourning. But unfortunately we don't have *time* for you to grieve, Sam. You're going to be put into training soon, so you need to start dealing with this stuff now, with people who won't whip the skin off your back on a whim, okay?"

Kurt blinked, eyes widening as Sam took a deep breath and slid his hands up to rest on Mercedes' waist, ducking his head a until their foreheads were touching. Hm, it looked like there might be a little more going on between the two than he had realized… Well, good for his girl. If he weren't still so pissed about the little mishap with his slave, he'd congratulate her.

"Tomorrow you're going to get a new schedule at school and you're going to have to attend slave classes." Mercedes paused, taking slow, deep breaths as she blinked back tears. Kurt wondered if she was doing meditative breathing exercises. If so, he hoped that they worked better for her than they did for him. "And then the day after that you're going to begin training."

Sam shuddered and Mercedes wrapped her arms around him, pulling him against her.

"I'm sorry, Sam," she said, voice cracking. "I've been so caught up in finding out about Kurt and Dave and talking up the liberation movement that I forgot what the core of all this really is. Slavery *is* terrible, and it should be protested, but it is *definitely* not something we can fix in a day. So maybe, in a way, I've been avoiding the real issue, too, by focusing on the evils of slavery. Because the fact is, protesting it won't stop what's going to happen to you. We need to figure out how to deal with today, then maybe we can focus on the future."

Sam pulled the girl tighter against him, letting out a choked little sob. "I'm just so afraid, Mercedes, I can't even think straight. I just… I just can't believe it, you know?"

Mercedes nodded, head pressed against his chest. "I think maybe neither of us wanted to accept this. But there's no choice. So I think both of us need to stop fighting with Kurt and freaking out over things Dave does and just deal with today. We just need to get through this day by day."

Kurt swallowed hard as tears rose up in Sam's eyes. It was a lot easier to just be annoyed with the boy when he was acting like a fool and being sassy. But when he was crying…

"I'm just so scared," Sam said, tears running down his face. "I'm just so damn scared." He looked up at Kurt, sniffling. "I-I'm sorry, Kurt. I'm not being fair to you. I know-I know you're just trying to help me. I just can't even process it. How can they do this to me? I don't *understand*! I'm a person! A person!"

"I know," Kurt said, voice husky as he moved over to join their hug. "You *are* a person, Sam. That's why this is so wrong. But we're going to help you. We *are*. Like Mercedes said, though, it's a slow process and we just have to take it day by day."

"I *am* a person, aren't I, Kurt?" Sam asked, his shoulders shaking as the sobs kept coming. "Even if they say I'm not, I still am, aren't I?"

"Of course you are," Kurt murmured, ducking his head his head so that Sam wouldn't see the tears gathering in his own eyes. "Of course you're a person, Sam, and always will be, even if they call you a slave." His emotions won and a tear trickled down his face.

Kurt jerked in surprise as there was a sudden touch on his cheek, light and gentle, and he looked over into Dave's face as the slave raised his finger to its mouth and touched the tear it had caught against its lips.

"You may speak, Dave," Kurt said quietly, another tear running down his face as Sam continued to cry.

"Master," Dave said, voice hardly above a whisper. "A-are you okay, Master?"

"I'm fine, pet," Kurt replied gently, reaching out and pulling Dave into their little hug, its big arms almost long enough to wrap around all three of them.

Sam swallowed back his sobs as he looked up into Dave's face, his eyes wide and bright. "I-I'll still be a person, right, Dave? Even when I wear the slave stuff and take the slave classes, I'll still be a person, won't I?"

Kurt couldn't see Dave's face from behind him, but whatever Sam saw must have comforted him somewhat because the shaking in his shoulders eased and his breathing became a little steadier.

"Of course you'll still be a person," Dave said, voice as soft and gentle as its touch to its master's face had been. "Don't worry about that, Mr. Sam. You'll never be a slave, you'll always be a person, I *promise.* I know the difference. You'll never be a slave like me."

Its arms tightened protectively around all three of them and, for the first time since he'd heard the news about Sam, Kurt felt free to let the tears really flow for the poor boy.

They would save him. They *would.* He would never be a slave like Dave.


	12. Ch 12: Under Pressure

****If you would like to read this on my livejournal instead of the evil ff net, you can find it at****

**** ****pucktheperv +DOT+ livejournal +DOT+ com +SLASH+ tag +SLASH+ bornthisslave********

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**Author's Notes:** Okay, it has been almost a year since I have updated my two WIPs, _Born This Slave_ and _Cell Mate_, but I've gotten several emails asking if I am going to complete them and, since I am out of the job, why not? I know a couple of people were really pissed that I haven't updated in forever, but it has been a REALLy crazy year. Anyhoo... don't know if anybody's still interested in readin' this thang, but here she is, a brand new spankin' chapter! (Emphasis on 'spankin' ;P)

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**Chapter 12: Under Pressure**

"Okay, um, just take deep breaths, alright? Just breathe in and out, real deep, okay, Mr. Sam?" The boy looked like he was going to collapse. Dave really hoped he wouldn't have to do CPR. His First Aid training taught him that he tended to underestimate his strength and crack people's ribs. This was especially bothersome when it was a practice session.

Sam nodded and made an attempt to slow his panting, his quick breaths evening out. Sort of. A little. Well, at least he wasn't hyperventilating anymore.

"It's gonna be okay. This isn't even real training. That won't start until tomorrow. Think of this as… training for training, okay? We do stupid stuff that any Born-slave worth their weight in Kentucky Fried Chicken would know. All they really do in these stupid classes is talk about how to serve water without spilling it and kneel without falling on your face. Half the time we just sit here in silence while the trainer reads Harlequin romance novels. Plus, Trainer Barton is real easy going," Dave said, trying to be encouraging as Mr. Sam continued to stare at the door before them like it was a giant vagina looking to devour his manhood. If that made any sense. Dave wasn't really in a sensical metaphor mood. Dealing with Mr. Sam was taking pretty much all of his attention.

"Come on, Mr. Sam, just step into the class. It won't be *that* bad—" Dave's cooing was interrupted as an arm appeared out of nowhere, slamming against the doorframe and blocking their way into the classroom.

"Well, well, well, *what* have we here? Could it be Porcelain's slave?!"

Dave winced, Coach Sylvester's voice cutting through him like a pair of enormous scissors clipping off his balls. Something that actually *could* be considered a sensical metaphor.

"Hello, Coach Sylvester," Dave said as calmly as he could manage with a track-suited psycho standing less than two feet away looking like she was one step away from sucking their blood. "I take it you have heard about my Master?"

"Indeed," Coach Sue said, making a clucking sound as she stared at him intensely. "You know, you really had me fooled, Big Butt. I really thought some rich asshole out there kept you as a gladiator or something. Sort of the human equivalent of a cock fighter? Or maybe just fighting with your cock. Tie a knife to it and try to stab your opponent's eye out? First one to ram it up the other's anus wins? But it seems that you were kept for… other purposes."

"I don't know about other *purposes*," Dave said, voice a little less than polite, "but no, I have never put out someone's eye with my penis."

Coach Sylvester raised an eyebrow at that. "Not man enough, Karofsky?"

Dave shook his head, sick of this. "Hey now, I never said that I haven't tried. If you'll excuse us, Evans and I have a class to attend."

"Oh, that's right. You have *slave* classes… With little slave Sam there." Coach Sue's smile was much too bright for comfort. "Well, in that case, you two just run right along, have yourselves a ball! Unless, of course, your Master's clipped those off." She pushed away from the doorframe and moved away, wiggling her fingers at them. "Toodle loo!"

Dave blinked as she strode off in the general direction of her office, frowning. Coach Sue had sounded rather happy, which was rarely a good thing. She had *something* nefarious planned. But there was nothing Dave could do about it right then, if he could do anything about it at all. Coach Sue was a freewoman, after all, and Dave had no illusions that she would pause even a second before handing him over to SLAP if he stepped out of line.

"Come on, Mr. Sam," Dave said firmly, taking the boy's arm and almost dragging him toward the door. "It's time for class."

Sam finally allowed himself to be led into the room, though his breath was coming a little too fast again.

"If I have to give you CPR, Mr. Sam," Dave muttered under his breath as he hauled the boy along, "you are seriously going to regret it. *Please* relax."

The slave classroom really wasn't much of a classroom. In fact, it looked like it might have been meant for storage at one time or another. There was a chair and table up front but, otherwise, it was empty. There was a chalkboard that Trainer Barton occasionally used for diagrams, but that was about as classroom-like as it got.

A smattering of slaves milled about the room, though they were very distinctly divided. The Born-slaves, most of them in Cheerios uniforms, were already kneeling on the floor, their heads politely bowed. The First-gens, however, were still wandering around and talking to one another, despite the fact that the warning bell had just rung and they should really be in position. Every once and awhile a Born-slave would look up and shoot a First-gen a disgusted look before bowing its head once more.

Fucking First-gens and their too-cool-for-school attitudes.

Dave maneuvered Mr. Sam over to the side where the Born-slaves were kneeling, taking a place near the front of the room and gesturing for Mr. Sam to join him down on the floor.

"Th-there's no desks," Sam said, apparently not getting Dave's hint about the kneeling thing. The boy looked around in obvious astonishment, and Dave couldn't keep himself from rolling his eyes, polite or not.

"Just kneel," he said through gritted teeth. "You need to stop fucking questioning everything and do what you're told, dammit!" Mr. Sam was going to get the shit slapped out of him if he kept this up.

Sam licked his lips nervously, shoulders so tense they looked like they were about to snap, and once again Dave felt a rush of sympathy for the boy. He couldn't even imagine what it would be like, going from freeman to slave. At least he knew Mr. Sam would have a kind Master. Master Kurt was the best Master that Dave could even *imagine.* Of course, God knew where that left Dave himself. Maybe he would be returned to Master Elijah's estate. He wouldn't mind that, well, except for the whole missing Master Kurt desperately thing. But, more likely, he'd be sold off at auction in an attempt to return Master Elijah's original investment. Master Elijah was not interested in pleasure slaves that were beyond puberty.

Dave blinked rapidly. He was going to miss Master Kurt so much.

Mr. Sam was still standing there, looking down at Dave with wide eyes. "It's just… it's kind of weird, all this. Don't you think this is kind of weird? I mean, it's freakish isn't it? Don't you think it's freakish?" His voice was growing higher with every word, his disgust written clearly across his face.

Okay, Mr. Sam had just lost the title of 'Mr.' in Dave's mind. He was a goddamn slave now and he needed to deal with it! He was going to be Master Kurt's slave, and there was no way that Dave was going to allow this stupid bleach-head to disgrace his Master's good name!

"No, slave, I don't," Dave said, voice flat and a little dangerous. "It is perfectly normal for a slave to kneel. In fact, it's improper for a slave to sit on furniture without explicit permission. You should stand or kneel at all times."

"Really?"

No, he'd just been kidding. "Yes, really," Dave said, trying to keep himself from smacking the boy upside the head. He just needed to keep reminding himself that it wasn't Sam's fault. The closest he'd come to slavery was cleaning his damn room, no doubt. They had six months to make him into a good slave for Master Kurt.

Dave took a deep breath, trying to sound as soothing as possible. "Look, it's just a school slave class. It's not going to be that bad—"

"Helloooo, slaves! Aren't you going to welcome your new trainer?" Dave's eyes widened as a balding man dressed in a pink shirt with a purple cardigan waltzed into the room—literally—and did a pirouette at the front of the room. "I am Master Ryerson, and I am your new trainer!"

"Oh, my God," Sam muttered as all the lingering First-gens hurried to take their places on the floor. "This is not good." He shook his head, a look of disbelief on his face. "I thought being in the sex offenders database meant you couldn't work in with kids anymore."

The man sniffed prissily, reminding Dave of the way Master Kurt looked when He was in a tiff, and stepped over, staring down at Sam.

"Ah, blondie, but *you* are not kids. You are slaves! I am perfectly qualified to work with slaves!" Master Ryerson flashed a bright smile. "I am afraid that your former trainer took a little… tumble. My good friend Coach Sylvester called me in to take her place." He perched himself on the edge of the desk, kicking his feet like a kid as he picked up the notebook left by their old trainer. "Now, it looks here like you were working on… serving? Well, as much as I adore a good tea party, we'll be moving along in the curriculum. Right on to pleasure, training, I believe!"

Dave choked a little. What the hell? Pleasure training was *not* covered in government classes. He glanced over at Sam, who looked like he was about to run screaming from the room. Shit, he had to do something about this. Fast. Dave took a deep breath. "Um, Master Ryerson, if I may speak?"

There was a sudden movement in the classroom, almost like doing The Wave in a stadium full of people, as every Born-slave in the room bobbed their heads slightly in shock at Dave's audacity. If one wanted to speak, one placed one's finger on one's lips and stayed silent until given permission. To ask aloud for permission to speak was a major offense, considering that it was a paradox in itself. How could you ask aloud for permission to speak when you had to speak to ask? The First-gens, of course, just watched him with bored expressions, completely unaware that Dave had just committed a serious slave etiquette faux pas—something unheard of from the exceptionally trained slave.

Master Ryerson looked down at him, adjusting his glasses on his nose as he made a disgusted face. "Who is this 'I'? I don't see any persons here."

Dave gritted his teeth. Fine, if Faggy McFrivolous wanted to be pretentious, he could be pretentious. As long as Dave got his point across. "Master Ryerson, if this slave could beg a moment to speak?"

The man sniffed again, an act that Dave was quickly beginning to dislike. "Moments go quickly, um," he put a finger to his lips, "what are you called?"

"This slave is called Dave, Sir."

Master Ryerson let out a sharp laugh. "What a common name. I think I shall call you Donkey. You remind me of an ass."

"I will be pleased to answer to Donkey, Master Ryerson," Dave said emotionlessly. Master Ryerson looked rather annoyed that his jab hadn't gotten a reaction. It just went to show that he wasn't a true trainer. Dave was a Born-slave. His trainer could skip the 'Donkey' and just call him 'Ass' and he wouldn't give a damn. It wasn't as if he really had a name. He was a slave. "This slave noticed that Master Ryerson mentioned pleasure training. As far as this slave understands, pleasure training is not a part of the public school training curriculum."

"Oh, really? You think so, Donkey?" Master Ryerson waved a hand in the air for no apparent reason. "Well, we will be refashioning the program. And since you seem so very intrigued by the concept, slave, you can be the first to train! Come up to the front."

Dave rose obediently, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at this fool calling himself a trainer. What was he going to do, mount him in the middle of a classroom? Dave seriously did not think Figgins would approve. "Yes, Master Ryerson."

"And, of course, you will need a partner… How about… The beautiful Ken doll that was next to you? Slave Samuel, I think it is? It has such *luscious* lips… A fine partner for pleasure training indeed."

Dave tensed at the words. Ah. So that was Coach Sylvester's angle. Messing with Mr. Sam's head as soon as possible, breaking the boy before he even had a chance to serve Master Kurt. Dave could not let that happen. His Master wanted Mr. Sam, and Dave would do anything to give his beloved Master what He wanted.

Mr. Sam made a frightened noise, glancing around with wide eyes like maybe Master Ryerson was talking about some other big-lipped blonde.

"Master Ryerson," Dave said as politely as he could, keeping his head carefully bowed. "Slave Sam has no previous training whatsoever. Perhaps another slave would be better suited for this task."

"Oh, no, I think slave Sam will be just perfect." A rather wicked look came over his face. "Come on, slave! Up, up, up!"

Mr. Sam climbed slowly to his feet, face red as he moved to the front of the room. Dave reached out, wrapping the boy's hands in his bigger ones and leaning forward so he could whisper to the kid. "It's alright, Mr. Sam," Dave said quietly. "He won't do anything too extreme in the middle of a classroom. Just follow my lead, okay?"

He wasn't sure Mr. Sam even heard him. It kind of looked like he was going into shock, eyes dilated and skin clammy.

"Noooow," Master Ryerson said dramatically, eyes raking down Mr. Sam's body in a way that was definitely not professional. "Pleeeeasure training is *very* important for *any* slave. Certainly the *most* important thing a slave can learn!"

Dave held back a snort. Never mind that ninety percent of Born-slaves received little to no pleasure training. It was reserved for those who seemed likely candidates to become prize slaves. After all, it didn't take any training to be a simple mount. Laying there and taking it wasn't rocket science. Pleasure training was about understanding all the intricacies of mounting and using that knowledge to your Master's advantage.

"First we are going to cover kissing. *With* tongue. And mutual body contact." Master Ryerson hopped back up on the edge of the desk, clapping his hands like a kid in a candy store. "So. Give it a go, slaves!"

Dave took a deep breath, tugging Mr. Sam against his body. The boy started to resist and Dave clamped a firm hand on his shoulder. "It's just a kiss," he said, voice as soothing as possible. "You can handle a kiss." He better be able to handle a kiss, because much more would be coming in the future. And in six months, Master Kurt would certainly deserve far more than a little tongue. Not that Master Kurt didn't appreciate a slave's tongue. Dave idly made a note to tell Mr. Sam how Master enjoyed it when you ran young tongue gently down His spine as you massaged His shoulders.

Mr. Sam let out a little whimper as Dave's hands pulled him even closer, which was accompanied by a small moan from Master Ryerson. Dave did *not* want to know what the man was doing behind them.

"Here, just press your body against mine, okay?" he coached, reaching out and wrapping one arm fully around Mr. Sam's back, placing the other around his waist. He tightened his grip until their chests rubbed together and Mr. Sam's crotch pressed against Dave's. "Good boy," Dave muttered, the words sounding strange on his lips. Like he was the Master or Trainer. It seemed so wrong. "That's a good boy. Now, I'm going to kiss you, okay? Just kiss you."

"I-I'm not gay!" Mr. Sam said, suddenly trying to pull away, but Dave was ready for him, strong arms holding the boy tight against him. He gritted his teeth as Mr. Sam began to struggle madly, but managed to keep the boy firmly pressed against him.

"I know, Mr. Sam, I knoooow, but please, stop struggling. Struggling does not help. You are a slave now, Mr. Sam. You cannot struggle. Slaves don't struggle, Sir."

A wicked laugh came from behind them. "Oh, a lovely point, Donkey! You are quite the teacher! Those big Donkey arms holding him in place… lovely! Tell me… are you Donkey sized everywhere, slave?"

Oh, look, he was a funny one. "No, Master Ryerson," Dave said flatly as he struggled to keep Sam pressed against him. The other boy was strong, but not as strong as Dave. "You need to calm down, Mr. Sam! Please," he whispered, "please calm down, okay? It'll be okay…" He took the risk of loosening his grip enough to start rubbing small, gentle circles across Mr. Sam's back with one hand, doing his best to relax the boy.

Sam took in a sharp breath, but his struggling stopped at least, his body becoming heavy against Dave's.

"I don't know, Donkey. You're a pretty big boy. I could imagine you being related to a mule. I may have to check the validity of your claims…"

"This slave is registered at four inches one millimeter when flaccid," Dave replied absently, his focus mostly on rubbing Sam's back comfortingly. "Its erect size is listed as unknown. Approximation, between five to seven inches. Its genital categorization, Average Sized Male. No donkey relations known," he added, a little snidely, at the end.

A few of the First-gens chuckled, and Dave sneered at them before turning his attention back to Sam. Ill-trained fools.

Master Ryerson jumped off the desk again, moving closer to them. Close enough that Dave could clearly see the bulge in the man's pants. His stomach dropped a little. As a freeman, Master Ryerson had the right to demand a mounting. It was considered very unprofessional, and would certainly make Master Kurt furious, but it was definitely a possibility. And somehow Dave didn't think Master Ryerson would care that Mr. Sam was not officially a slave yet.

This was not good. Not good at all. Dave needed to find a way out of this classroom, slave etiquette be damned. This whole thing had turned into a mess. Damn Coach Sue and her nasty little plans!

"Okay, enough chatting. As much as I love to see you manhandling the Lip Nest Monster, I want to see some kissing! Kiss now!"

"Yes, Master Ryerson," Dave said calmly, even as Sam tensed up and started trying to pull away again.

"Mr. Sam," he said quietly, mind whirling with escape plans, "remember what we talked about at the mall? With Miss Mercedes and Master Kurt? Just get through the day, okay? You have to accept that it's going to happen and get through the day."

Mr. Sam whimpered again, and Dave tightened his grip, hugging the boy against him. "I don't want to." Dave's heart throbbed at the word, guilt flooding him. This was horrible, what they were doing to Mr. Sam. And there was nothing Dave could do about it.

Dave stared down into those big, scared eyes, wishing to God that he didn't have to do this. This was not who he was, not what he did! He was a slave, not a Trainer or a Master! This was not his place! Dave blinked back tears as Mr. Sam continued to beg quietly, whispering "Please, please, please don't" over and over again.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Sam. You don't have a choice." With those words Dave grabbed the back of Mr. Sam's head and pressed their lips together. Mr. Sam tried to struggle, but Dave was nothing if not a damn big boy, and Mr. Sam was no match for him.

There was a soft moaning sound from Master Ryerson's general direction, which Dave ignored as he plowed Sam's mouth with his own. After a long moment he pulled away, guilt rising at the horrified look on Mr. Sam's face.

Mr. Sam shoved at him suddenly, digging his fingernails hard into Dave's arms, making him curse at the pain.

"Don't touch me!"

"Dammit, Mr. Sam!" Dave grabbed the boys arms, wrestling him to the ground until he was perched on top of him, using his full body weight to hold down his struggling limbs. This was not going to work. If the boy couldn't even hold his shit together in a classroom, what would happen when he ended up in actual slave classes? Images of blood and pain and snapping bones and remembrance whips flashed through Dave's head.

"Mr. Sam," Dave said, his voice almost a growl as he lowered his face so that they were almost touching lips. "You need to STOP this!"

"Fuck you."

God, there was no way this was going to work. What the hell was he going to do? Master had made it damn clear that Sam was *his* responsibility. But one day in slave classes and the fool would probably be dead. Just telling him how to act obviously was not going to work. If only Dave could get into those classes with him, try to protect him… But Dave was a prized slave, his training well documented. There would be no way they would let him enroll in government classes.

"Oh, my… That was… lovely. Did you all see that? Don't they make just an *adorable* pair?" Master Ryerson clapped his hands together in a childlike way, an elated smile on his face. "Now, why don't the two of you remove your—"

Whatever Master Ryerson wanted them to remove was interrupted by a loud knocking on the door, thank the Lord. His relief was short lived, however, as it slammed open and Santana walked in, her head held as high as ever as she marched over to Master Ryerson. Dave narrowed his eyes. God, he hated that little cunt. It really wasn't his place to despise a friend of his Master, but Santana's mere existence managed to make him feel sick.

"Hello there," Master Ryerson said, raising an eyebrow at the girl. "You're a little late, aren't you?"

"I'm just here to give you this," Santana replied coldly, holding out a note. "And then I'm gone. Later, freak nasty." She turned on her heel and stepped pointedly over Dave and Sam, entangled on the floor.

Mr. Sam stared after her, distracted from his struggling by the sudden entrance. "What the hell was Santana doing here?"

A good question. One Dave had sworn never to answer a long, long time ago. An answer he had kept even from his Master, to his own disgrace. But for his Master's protection. The less anyone knew about the so-called Santana Lopez, the safer they would be.

"That isn't important, slave. You need to quit asking questions. You have no right to ask questions." The sooner Mr. Sam got that through his thick skull, the better off they all would be.

"Why not?"

And he comes back with a question. Of course. Dave let out a tired sigh, even as his mind continued to flash, as he tried to come up with *some* way of a) getting Mr. Sam out of this class and b) convincing him that he had better start acting like the slave he was or he was going to be very sorry very soon.

An idea began to form. Dave didn't particularly *like* said idea, considering that it involved lying to a freeman, kidnapping Mr. Sam, and taking his precious Master to a place he knew for certain would scar the caring, loving young Master for life. Unfortunately, it was all he had to work with at this point, because he couldn't think of anything else that would really get the seriousness of the situation through to Mr. Sam.

Dave slowly climbed to his knees, releasing a relieved looking Sam from his grip, and began to crawl toward the front of the room, placing a finger gently on his lips.

Master Ryerson stared down at him for several seconds, obviously having no clue what the hell Dave was doing—Trainer indeed—then finally turned his nose up in the air and said snottily, "Well, what is it, slave?"

"Master Ryerson," Dave said, careful to keep his eyes lowered and his voice appropriately soft. "This slave is on orders from its Master to bring slave Sam to Him if any disobedience is shown. The way the Sam is resisting your training is shameful, and this slave must fulfill its duties to its Master first and foremost. So, if you will excuse this slave, Master Ryerson, this slave must take the disgraced slave to its Master for presentation and punishment."

Considering this was a total lie, Dave didn't wait for Master Ryerson to answer or, for that matter, for Mr. Sam to protest. Instead he grabbed the smaller boy around the waist, swung him over his shoulder like a bag of flour, and headed for the door, setting his plan in motion.

o o o

Kurt stared blankly at the chalkboard as Mrs. Smith continued to ramble on about some war he'd never heard of. He was usually a fairly good student, though on occasion he did slip Vogue articles into the pages of his textbooks, but today his mind was in a whole 'nother place. Or actually, focused on a whole 'nother thing.

Dave.

Kurt didn't usually spend too much time thinking about his slave. After all, it was the most stable thing in his life, other than his dad's love. And he knew that you could, indeed, lose a parent's love, through no fault of their own. He'd lost his mother's love to death, after all. But his slave… It just seemed so permanent, something that would always be there for him, dependable and sure. And so easy. It was the one thing in his life that accepted him, no questions asked, one hundred percent.

…Only how could a *thing* accept you?

Diminishing equipment. Kurt had never heard the term before. In fact, he felt like he'd been transported back to their childhood, a confused little boy trying to understand the twisted logic of a slave as Dave stuttered out an explanation of why slaves do this or that. One thing had stuck with him, however, something that Kurt couldn't just pass off like he had everything else.

He had humiliated Dave. His slave had been humiliated. He had humiliated his slave.

Kurt had always assumed that slaves didn't care how they were presented. After all, a dog wasn't embarrassed because you put a harness on it and took it for a walk. Admittedly, slaves were vastly more intelligent than dogs—especially his who, despite being a big oaf, was really quite brilliant deep down—but the concept was the same, right?

Of course, the *real* question, the one elite society would ask, was why did Kurt *care* if he'd humiliated it? Dave was his property and he could do whatever he wanted with it. But for some reason, it bothered him. He loved his pet. He didn't want it to feel bad. He had certainly never *intended* to make it feel bad… No one wanted to make their slaves feel bad, right?

But… if the elite trainers called bondage wear 'diminishing equipment,' then slavemasters must know it humiliated their slaves. Was Mercedes right? *Did* slavemasters clothe their pets in next to nothing because they enjoyed humiliating them? The last thing Kurt wanted was to hurt his slave in any way, however, he had to admit that it was a powerful feeling, having total control over another, and the bondage wear was just a salute to said power.

The safety aspect of it honestly was secondary. Strong enough shock collars were really all that was required for safety—you could knock a slave out with those things, which would definitely stop any fighting. Why all the other get up? Just to impress other slavemasters with your fashion sense? Or was there more too it than that? Some part of people that thought just owning a slave wasn't enough, that you had to repress, to *diminish* its personality as much as possible to prove that it was yours? There must be some of that to it, if the trainers called it diminishing equipment.

But if that was true, then what about all the other parts of a slave's life? Did Dave feel humiliated when Kurt ordered it around? It claimed to adore serving, and just the thought of being taken away from Kurt had been enough to make it attack a freewoman—an offense punishable by death. So surely it didn't find its service degrading?

And what about the most intimate act you could have with a slave? What about mounting? It was supposed to be impersonal to the point of almost being clinical, but Kurt had never really understood how you could just turn off your feelings and think of your slave as a big sex toy. During mountings was when he felt the closest to his slave. There was just something about the way it looked at him, as if Kurt was its whole world and that was all that it could ever want, that just made him feel warm inside. Which was silly, because of course it looked at him like he was its whole world—Kurt was Dave's whole world! He was its Master! But, at the same time, there must be something… special about it, beyond just Master and slave, if he'd actually been jealous at the thought of Dave and Mercedes together.

You really shouldn't feel jealous about the sharing of slaves. It wasn't considered appropriate. It was, after all, just a slave. Angry, perhaps, if someone tried to use your slave without your permission, but certainly not jealous. It was *your* slave. There was nothing to be jealous about! It belonged to you! There was no way you could lose it!

No, there was no way Kurt could lose Dave, at least not physically. But, despite his personal lack of experience mounting other slaves, Kurt had seen other slaves mounted, and there was simply something different about the way he and Dave interacted. Like there was something special between them that made it so much more *beautiful* than when other Masters mounted their slaves.

Of course, Kurt's slave *was* highly lauded in the pleasure department. That was why his grandpa had spent so much on it to begin with. So it was par for the course that mounting it would be better than mounting, say, some random kitchen boy. Still, there was something about the way that Dave so gently caressed his body and ran kisses down his back that made Kurt shiver just to think about it. It was the sort of feeling that he hoped someday to find in the arms of a lover.

Which was absurd, because Dave was not his lover. It wasn't even true sex. And it definitely wasn't reciprocal. Hell, the metal device around Dave's dick was testament enough to that. Kurt had been rather surprised yesterday at the mall to find out that Dave had *never* experienced a true erection, much less an orgasm. He knew that slaves were not allowed to pleasure themselves and that the chastity device prevented orgasms, however, he had assumed that Dave received some sort of rudimentary sexual relief when it went to have what it called 'chastity maintenance.' It wasn't something they'd talked much about.

To be honest, Kurt had always tried to keep the conversation as far away from his slave's chastity device as possible. It made him uncomfortable, talking about something that was definitely sexual in nature. He knew that his father strongly disapproved, arguing that teenaged boys needed to masturbate, that it was healthy for them—but then his father disapproved about pretty much everything concerning slavery.

Now Kurt was beginning to wonder… if slaves, like the elite claimed, didn't have sexual needs, then what was the point of a chastity device at all? Just to keep them from breeding without permission? That seemed silly considering that even slaves who lived alone wore chastity devices, Dave being the perfect example. And if it was simply to control *when* the slave achieved orgasm, how come nobody ever took them off?

Kurt rubbed tiredly at his forehead. Thinking about this was giving him a headache, not to mention the beginnings of a hard on. This was a particularly bad thing since his pants were tight enough that the pressure on his awakening penis was actually bordering on painful, trapped within the thick denim.

Trapped. He was trapped in his jeans, unable to stop his bodily response to his thoughts of mounting but incapable of really getting a hard on since his jeans were so small. Just like Dave's cock was trapped by the chastity device, its erections fouled by the metal. And if it was painful for Kurt to feel the first beginnings of an erection against something with as much give as denim, what did it feel like when his slave's penis kept desperately trying to rise during a mounting, forced into submission by the chastity device, again and again and again?

Kurt suddenly felt sick at his stomach. While this did wonders for halting his hard on, it didn't do much to make him feel better. But surely it wouldn't be that bad for someone who'd never ever *had* a hard on, right?

No, it couldn't be. Slaves probably weren't as sensitive to that as freemen were. There was no way Dave would have gone through its whole life in pain every time it got an erection and never mention it, right? Kurt had made it clear from when they were very young that if Dave was ever in pain for some physical reason, it should tell Kurt right away. And Dave had never mentioned this. Except he had, hadn't he? Just once, back when they first started McKinley… Kurt's stomach turned again as the memory of that night flooded his thoughts.

_Kurt came to with a small groan, blinking in the darkness as he pulled his blanket more closely around him. His little polka dot alarm clock on the bedside table flashed '2:03' in bright pink numerals and Kurt let out another groan. What the hell had woken him up at two o'clock in the morning? Kurt was usually a pretty heavy sleeper._

_A soft soft sound, almost like a whimper, came from the general direction of the bathroom, answering that question. Kurt's heart skipped a beat. Had someone broken into his house? Were they in the bathroom, right now, stealing all his MAC lipgloss? Oh God, his new Clavin Klein bathrobe was in there! Not to mention his acne cream, something that was a total necessity if he wanted to make it down the halls of his school un-scathed._

_"Dave," Kurt whispered, staring wide-eyed at the door, unwilling to look away lest the thief turn out to be fashion conscious and have a go at the collection of Prada bags stacked neatly along his dresser top. "Dave?"_

_No answer. A quick look around revealed that Dave was nowhere to be seen, and Kurt felt a little stupid. Of course. It was Dave in the bathroom, obviously. It had probably done another of those stupid hot dog eating contest with its new buddy… what was his name? Asamov or something like that? Kurt wasn't entirely sure, but he did know that, since befriending the jocks at school, Dave tended to get the runs a lot. Apparently jocks had a thing for sneaking laxatives into one another's drinks._

_Kurt swung his legs over the side of the bed, making an annoyed sound. Damn the little brat for waking him up. If it was going to poop all night, it should at least do it in silence!_

_Kurt made his way toward the bathroom, following a trail made by the little line of light shining under the door. He started to push his way in, then hesitated, hand hovering over the knob. Did he really want to go in there? If his slave was shitting up forty-three frankfurters right now, Kurt *really* didn't want to smell it._

_With a shake of his head Kurt dropped his hand from the knob, banging on the door instead. "David, what the hell are you doing? You woke me up!"_

_There was a sudden crashing sound, almost like a pan dropping, then a frantic voice called out. "Master, I am so sorry, Master! Hold on, just one moment, Master—whoa, whoa, WHOA!" There was a really loud thud, like an elephant had decided to land its rocket ship in Kurt's bathroom, followed by a moan from Dave._

_What the hell was going on in there? Even Dave's biggest bladder movement couldn't have made a sound like *that*!_

_Kurt turned the doorknob and pushed his way into the bathroom, eyes widening at the sight before him. Dave was sprawled on the floor, his face an unseemly shade of red, and around him were at least forty or fifty ice cubes scattered across the floor. Kurt guessed they had once been in the metal bowl that was also on the floor, beside his moaning slave. His moaning slave who was also butt naked._

_"God, Master," Dave moaned as he leaned his head tiredly against the wall. "I am so sorry, Master. This slave looks forward to its punishment for waking you, Master Kurt."_

_Kurt just gawked at it for a moment, then rubbed his hand against his forehead, feeling totally lost. "What are you doing in here, Dave? And why the hell is there a bunch of ice all over the floor?"_

_Wow, Kurt hadn't thought that his slave's face could *get* any redder._

_"I am so sorry, Master," it said again, pushing itself up into a kneeling position. "Please forgive this slave."_

_"Oh shut it," Kurt snapped, starting to get annoyed. "I've owned you for almost four years, slave Dave, and I can damn well tell by now when you're using fancy slave talk to avoid the question! Why are you up at two o'clock in the morning flinging ice around my bathroom?"_

_Dave's shoulders slumped forward and it bowed its head so far that its chin was pressed into its chest. "I wasn't actually flinging ice around, Master. It was all in the bowl before I heard you call. I accidentally dropped the bowl, Master, but I promise the mess will be cleaned up by the time you awake for your morning beauty rituals, Master."_

_Kurt's brow furrowed in confusion. "Yeah, okay, that's all fine and dandy, puppy, but, seriously? What were you doing in here with a bowl of ice? Trying to make a midnight slushie? I know your new acquaintances are into throwing them, but I'm pretty sure they get them from the slushie machine."_

_Dave's face grew even redder. "Ah, no Master, I was not, ah, trying to make a slushie, sir."_

_Kurt sighed, leaning heavily against the counter as he stared down at Dave. "Then what *were* you doing, David? And no avoiding the damn question! It is two in the morning and your Master needs his beauty rest!"_

_Dave looked up at that, its chocolate brown eyes wide. "You don't need any sleep to be beautiful, Master."_

_Kurt felt a blush creeping up his neck. "Well, while I appreciate your confidence in me, pet, I really do want to go back in bed. Are you going to tell me why you were in here, or should I get the flogger?"_

_"No, Master! Of course I will tell you!" The slave bit its lip, hesitating for a moment before it slowly climbed to its feet, gesturing vaguely below its waist. "You see, Master… I-I couldn't really sleep, Master. This slave's body was… betraying it. I tried everything I was trained to do. I thought of bad things, of sad things, of scary things. I tried to meditate, but I never was very good at meditating. I tried digging my fingernails into my, uh, testicles. But nothing worked. The, um, ache was making me restless, and I was afraid my tossing and turning would awake you. So I decided that using a bowl of ice to… correct my body's disobedience… would be both a solution and a fair punishment, Master."_

_Kurt blinked. What the hell was his slave talking about? "What do you mean your body was betraying you? And how the hell is a bowl of ice going to fix that?"_

_Somehow Dave's face managed to grow yet even redder as the slave reached down slowly and closed one of its big hands around its penis. "I am sorry, Master," it said softly, looking like it wanted to drop through the floor. "The pain—I mean, the discomfort, woke me. I-It was not intentional, this body's reaction. It happened while I was asleep. I just woke up when it started to press against my chastity device. I am very, very sorry that I awoke you, Master. Next time I will deal with it in silence and wait for it to go away instead of trying to fix it." The slave gestured lamely toward the bowl on the floor. "This was probably a stupid idea anyway, Master."_

_Kurt stared at Dave for a long moment, the words still processing, then let out a choked sound as all the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. A hard on. His slave had woken up with a hard on and couldn't sleep because it was pressing on the chastity device. So it had gotten a bowl of ice to relieve the pressure. Kurt grimaced at the thought of sticking his genitals in a bowl of ice. Talk about ouch!_

_"You know what, Dave," Kurt said, voice a little raspy. "You do that. And, uh, clean this up. I-I'm going back to bed. Please don't talk to me about this again. Okay? Thank you." With another shiver, Kurt fled back to his bed, leaving his slave alone in the bathroom._

_They never talked about that night again._

Kurt took a deep, calming breath, doing his best to push the memories of that disturbing night away. This was not something he needed to be thinking about in the middle of American History. But then, when was a good time to think about it? 'Never' had been his choice up until now.

Kurt had spent six years very carefully avoiding this very topic. If there was one thing he had never wanted to talk about, it was the device his slave wore around its genitals. The whole premise seemed impolite, the kind of thing that you ignored for decency's sake, like when someone accidentally farts or a girl's nipples show through her t-shirt on a cold day.

But maybe that wasn't fair. Kurt had learned the dangers of using even well-known instruments on slaves without fully understanding what they do when he'd practically ripped the skin off Dave's back with that horrible remembrance whip his grandmother had given him. But this was nothing like that whip, right? Dave had always worn this thing.

Kurt sighed and slumped down in his seat. Either way, there were other times and places to contemplate this sort of thing. He should really focus on class. It was last period anyway, so God knew he'd have plenty of time to think when he got home.

Maybe he'd even ask his slave a few questions about it, as gross as it might seem-

A sudden buzzing in his jeans awoke Kurt from his distractions, making him jump in his seat a little. His teacher shot him a questioning look and Kurt flashed her the best smile he could manage as he surreptitiously fished his phone from his pocket and glanced down at it.

**Table:** Mastur slave clas did not go so whell. Got misstur sam out butt I hav a plan if it pleeses u. C u after clas.

Kurt stuffed the phone back into his pocket with a frown. It didn't surprise him that Sam hadn't taken well to slave class, but he was very curious to find out what sort of plan his slave had contrived. And how had Dave managed to get Sam out of class to begin with? They didn't tend to hand out hall passes in slave class.

After what seemed like forever, the bell rang and Kurt practically leapt out of his seat, heading for the door. He didn't have far to go. In fact, he practically collided with Dave, who was standing just outside the classroom, its arms crossed over its chest in a commanding way that made Kurt shiver. Sam was seated on the floor next to the door, looking pouty.

"So," Kurt said as he and Dave stepped off to the side to avoid the stream of students exiting the classroom. "What's this big plan of yours to save 'Mr. Sam,' slave Dave?" His teasing tone had no effect on the slave, who continued to stare down at him with solemn eyes. Kurt's smile dropped away and a nervous feeling grew in his stomach as Dave reached out and gently touched his arm.

"Master," Dave said, voice low and a little husky. "I think we need to take Mr. Sam to the pound."


	13. Ch 13: The Pound

****If you would like to read this on my livejournal instead of the evil ff net, you can find it at****

**** ****pucktheperv +DOT+ livejournal +DOT+ com +SLASH+ tag +SLASH+ bornthisslave********

o o o****  
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**Author's Notes:** Okay, there is some squick in this. It is for a good cause and, for once, is not sexual, but I must warn you, it may make you feel a little ill. But I think it highlights well that slaves aren't just treated as less-than-human by many slavemasters, but worse than we would even treat animals. Also, y'all wanted a liberationist slave, you got one! But it may not be quite the great hero Mercedes is hoping for, LOL.

o o o

**Chapter 13: The Pound**

"This is it?" Kurt asked in disbelief as he put the car into park, turning off the engine. "This is the pound?"

"Yes, Master," Dave said, its voice solemn as it stared out the windshield at the huge building beyond. "This is the Lima Discarded or Irreputable Slave Sanctuary. DISS. Better known as the pound."

"Oh my God," Sam murmured from the front seat. "It looks like a prison."

It really did. Whatever Kurt had imagined slave sanctuaries to be, it wasn't this. Not that he'd really thought about what slave sanctuaries looked like. He supposed that, with a name like 'the pound,' he'd expected to find some sort of cross between the Humane Society and the Salvation Army, with people handing out meals to eager young slaves who were anxiously awaiting their chance to serve a brand new Master. Maybe a nice green yard to mill about in, or at least some picnic tables where people could sit and enjoy the good weather. Okay, perhaps that scenario was a little naive. But he still hadn't expected it to look like this.

The so-called pound was made up of a long, rectangular concrete building surrounded by a muddy area. The ground was littered with discarded Coke cans and spoiled food and what looked like… used toilet paper? Kurt grimaced. Toilet paper or not, the whole area smelled like a sewer. There was a watch tower at either end of the warehouse, and the entire compound was ringed with ten foot tall fences that were buzzing with electricity, their tops lined with barbed wire. The building had no windows, only a small door next to what looked to be a loading dock. It was big enough for a semi-truck to pull into, anyway.

Kurt glanced over at his slave, a nervous feeling rising in his chest. "Tell me it's better on the inside."

A look came over Dave's face, one that Kurt recognized well. It was the face his slave made when it was given an order that contradicted a previous order. In this case, it was no doubt weighing the options of lying to its Master versus refusing to tell its Master what he wanted to hear.

"Never mind, David," Kurt said soothingly. His slave was enough on the edge as it was; he didn't want to further upset it. "It was rhetorical." He wasn't entirely sure why Dave was so nervous, but by the way it kept ringing its hands and glancing worriedly in Kurt's direction, you'd have thought they'd come here to leave it.

"So… Are we actually going to go inside?" Sam questioned, his voice shaking a little as he stared with wide eyes at the slop filled yard and the electrified fences. Kurt could understand his distress.

Kurt swallowed hard, his fingers playing nervously across the steering wheel. If he could smell the compound from his car, the last thing he wanted to do was find out how much worse the stench was inside the building. The important thing, however, was to make Sam understand the seriousness of his situation, and Kurt trusted his slave when it said that a visit to the pound would be the spoon full of sugar—or in this case, spoon full of shit, apparently—that he needed. "Yes," he said firmly, unbuckling his seatbelt and reaching for the door handle. "We're going in."

"You will have to vouch for Mr. Sam and I at the entrance, Master," Dave said as Kurt hit the lock on his keychain, taking off in the general direction of the small guard station that was built into the fence line at the edge of the parking lot. "Only those who are licensed to own slaves are allowed inside DISS, however, a slavemaster may bring up to four visitors as long as he agrees to take liability for their actions."

Kurt frowned at that. "If only slavemasters are allowed, how have you been here before, pet?"

"We often visit it on the days I report to the estate for discipline, Master. Though normal physical discipline is necessary, Master Elijah feels there should also be a psychological reminder. A note of where we could be if we did not have our Masters." Dave paused, frowning. "It is not the most… hygienic… of places."

"Yeah, I kind of got that from the smell," Sam said, looking a little disgusted. "Do people just poop all over the place or something?"

"There is no septic plumbing, Mr. Sam. The slaves are required to bring their own waste to the disposal truck twice a week."

"Oh God," Kurt said, making a face. "You mean they don't even have modern plumbing? That is *disgusting*! Why the hell wouldn't they have toilets, of all things?"

Dave gave a little shrug. "It is simply a luxury not allowed to discarded and irreputable slaves."

"What does that mean, discarded and irreputable?" Sam questioned, his face a little green. "I mean, I couldn't end up here, right? I'm not discarded or irreputable, am I?"

Kurt raised an eyebrow at the the look on Dave's face, but whatever his slave had been going to say was cut off as the guard from the little booth leaned his head out the window, raising an eyebrow at them. "Hey, there, you gonna come in or you gonna stand there and chat all day, eh?"

"Sorry," Kurt said quickly, moving up to the booth. He gestured for Dave to hand him his bag, digging through it for his slavemaster's license. "I'm Kurt Hummel of the House of Claudia. This is my slave, called David, and my common friend, Sam Evans. I understand that they can enter with me, under my watch?"

"Yeah, yeah," the guard said as he squinted down at the license then began to type on an old desktop computer. "I'll whip you up some badges. I take it that you're lookin' to buy?"

Kurt glanced over at Dave, not sure what he should say. The slave gave a tiny nod and Kurt flashed the guard a big smile. "Yes, I am thinking about it. You can never have too many slaves, after all!"

The guard snorted. "That's exactly what my mamma said. O' course she was talkin' 'bout the type that popped from her womb rather than any actual slaves." He pulled out three laminated badges hooked to bright red lanyards from a drawer in his desk, sticking them out the window. "Here ya go, Master Hummel. You have yourself a nice time. When you're ready to leave, we'll scan out your badges." He hit a button set into the wall and there was a short sound, almost like the horn on a boat, then the gate popped open. "Have yourself a mighty fine time."

"Thank you," Kurt said politely as he inspected the badges. One was gold with the word 'BUYER' written on it in a fancy script. The other two were silver, printed with the words 'FREEMAN-VISITOR' and 'SLAVE-VISITOR,' respectively.

"You never answered my question," Sam said as they entered the gate, Kurt trying not to grimace at the smell. "I couldn't end up here unless I did something to become, uh, 'irreputable,' right?"

Kurt bit his lip, glancing sideways at Dave. His slave had its shoulders hunched, a carefully guarded look on its face. Obviously this was a question it would rather not answer.

"Actually, Mr. Sam," Dave said after a moment, its words soft. "'Discarded or Irreputable' pretty much means any slave who doesn't have a master or whose training is insufficient. Which, unfortunately, includes most First-gens. See, slavemasters want beautiful, useful slaves and a good percentage of the First-gens, well, let's just say that they don't make it out of slave training with their beauty and sanity intact, leaving them condemned to a life at the pound."

The color drained from Sam's face. "S-so I could end up in this place?"

"No," Kurt said firmly, taking Sam's hand in his. "No, because we're going to get you out. However, getting you out depends on you understanding *why* you need to take this seriously."

"You see, Mr. Sam," Dave said, voice still soft, "many of these slaves are totally unwanted because of something that happened during *training*—and whatever happened is usually because they resisted. You have to learn that resistance is useless."

Sam came to an abrupt stop, staring up at the building in front of them. From the look on his face, you'd have thought they were about to enter hell. And, from the smell of it, maybe they were. "I-I just don't know if I can… I mean, I'm a person! Don't you understand? I'm a person! How can I let someone come in and take away all of who I am?"

Dave let out a quiet sigh, its eyes meeting Kurt's briefly before flickering back to the warehouse's entrance. "Come on, Mr. Sam. Let's go just inside. Then maybe you'll see."

o o o

The stench filling the room was almost indescribable, horrifyingly pungent even through the thick medical masks they'd been given at the door. It was as though every nasty smell in the universe had suddenly joined forces and taken over the warehouse. Human waste was predominant, but Dave also caught whiffs of body odor and rotten vegetables, spoiled meat and bad milk.

Though the slave sanctuary looked like a simple warehouse from the outside, the inside was more like a village, packed to bursting with winding paths lined with the little makeshift homes and shops that the unwanted slaves had made out of a patchwork of old blankets and clothes.

Slaves of all ages and sizes roamed the area, many of them bearing the blank, unseeing eyes of the insane. Mutilations were everywhere, from five year old boys with missing limbs to old women with just one eyeball. There wasn't a single person Dave could see that didn't sport at least some scars, and it was very obvious since most of the slaves were next to naked, their clothes sacrificed to help create their little tent homes.

Dave swallowed down the bile rising in his throat. It wasn't so much the smell of the feces or the horrible disfigurations or even the sight of two aroused male slaves who'd managed to slip their chastity devices forcing a young woman with no teeth to the ground. It was the fact that within six months he might very well be one of them. He blinked back tears, sneaking a look at his Master. Even within this pot of waste, He managed to look beautiful. So very, very beautiful. Even His tears were beautiful.

Wait, His tears?

Dave moved toward his Master, wrapping his big arms around the small boy without thinking about it. Master Kurt didn't seem to mind the intrusion, however, as He buried his face deep in Dave's chest, letting out a choked sob.

"Master," Dave whispered, running his hand lightly across His back. "It's okay, Master. Don't cry, Sir. Please, Master, don't cry."

Master Kurt lifted His head, eyes still brimming with tears. "How could they do this?"

Dave bit his lip, trying to think of something to say that would make his gentle, kindhearted Master feel better. This is why he hadn't wanted to do this—he knew that one as loving as Master Kurt would be heartbroken by this place, even if places like it were necessary to society. "Master, they are only slaves—"

Master's fingers clenched down on his arms. "I wouldn't even treat animals like this, David! How can they treat slaves this way? Masters are supposed to protect them!"

"That's the evil of the Ciceros, Master, you know that, Sir. They steal away freemen, relabel them slaves, then throw away the ones no one wants like they are trash. Less than five percent of the slaves here are Born-slaves, Master. What else can they do with the First-gens they destroy? They can't let them loose on society for people to see and they will never sell at auction… They have to put them somewhere, or else put them down forever."

"This place is horrible," Mr. Sam said hoarsely, looking like he was about to topple over. Dave reached out an arm to steady him, just in case. "Horrible. I-I see it now. I believe you now. I am taking it seriously. See me taking it seriously? Oh my God, that man has no dick." He buried his face in his hands. "I can't take this. I've seen what you wanted me to. Can we go now?" The last came out as a sob.

Dave took a deep breath, immediately regretting it as the stench filled his senses anew. "Actually, Mr. Sam, we haven't seen what I brought you here for, Sir. This… this is simply the pound. It's the way it is, and there is a chance you could end up here, even if you are the best slave in the world." Especially if your Master has found someone thinner and blonder and prettier. "What I want you to see is what happens when you resist the trainers, specifically."

Master Kurt finally released His hold on Dave's chest, taking a wobbly step back. "And all these disfigured slaves aren't enough testament to that? I-I agree with Sam. It's time to go. I want out of here."

A sentiment that Dave agreed with whole-heartedly. He wanted out of here and he *definitely* didn't want to be back in six months, fighting to the death with other slaves to claim himself a spot to set up his piss bucket. But this wasn't enough. He could see it in Mr. Sam's eyes. The boy was shocked and horrified and disgusted and every other adjective for 'sickened' in Master's Word-a-Day calendar. But he still didn't believe that these people could be him. He still thought of it as a small possibility rather than an absolute fact if he resisted training. Mr. Sam needed to realize that even the smallest of offenses in slave training was enough for your trainers to turn you into one of these mutilated wretches. That even a rebellious stare was enough to get your eye cut out. That one single little insult, muttered under your breath, could lose you your tongue.

Dave placed a finger carefully over the medical mask he was wearing, waiting patiently for Master Kurt to allow him to speak. Master nodded and Dave took a step toward Him, lowering his voice enough that Mr. Sam would be hard pressed to hear them, especially over the sounds of the toothless girl screaming for help a few tents over.

"Master, you know this slave will always and forever follow your will. But it would be imminy, no… *immensely* grateful if Master would take the time to consider its words. We are already here and, as terrible as the pound must seem to such a sweet and caring and wonderful Master as You, Sir, this slave really believes it would be in Mr. Sam's greatest benefit if this slave was allowed to show him what it brought us here to see."

Master stared up at Dave with serious eyes, and it took everything in him not to shift uncomfortably under that steady gaze. It was not considered proper in any way to even suggest deviation from your Master's orders, but Dave was determined that his Master would get everything He wanted, and that meant making sure His new slave was as good as it could be. Which would be difficult to do if Mr. Sam lost his genitals within the first week of training.

Master's expression was hard to read under the medical mask, but finally He nodded, saying, "All right, slave Dave. Lead the way."

o o o

Kurt had never seen any place as disgusting as this. He had, honest to God, almost puked when they came in the door. Once again, he didn't know what he'd expected, but certainly not the wasteland of refuse that seemed to carpet the entire building.

It was dark, the flickering industrial lamps built into the ceiling the only light in the windowless warehouse. Instead of lines of cages or cots or whatever you'd expect slaves to sleep in, there was a mass of people and filth that looked like it had fallen out of the Middle Ages and somehow ended up in a warehouse in Lima.

The slaves had constructed a little village of lean-tos made out of God knows what. Possibly their own clothes, since many were naked. The concrete floor was covered in trash and dirt and thick, runny substances that Kurt didn't even want to think about. There were drains in the floor every dozen yards or so, but it was obvious that nobody sprayed the place down. In fact, Kurt was pretty sure that the slaves didn't even spray *themselves* down.

Their sudden appearance had made a few of the slaves milling about pause for a moment, but then they had started going back about their business with no fanfare. Not very respectful for slaves, but Kurt supposed that at this point they didn't care much about anything.

Almost every single person Kurt saw—and there were hundreds in here—was disfigured in some way, if not physically then definitely mentally. A male slave missing both its ears was busy tearing tiny bits off a loaf of burnt bread and dropping them carefully into the water it had boiling over a small fire. Next to it sat a beautiful girl with gorgeous blue eyes and long, golden locks that reminded Kurt of Rapunzel. It was rocking back and forth as it chewed on a thick bunch of its lovely hair, occasionally muttering non-sensical words to no-one.

There were young slaves and old slaves, deformed slaves and mad slaves. And everywhere that there wasn't a slave, there was some sort of nastiness, be it pots full of poop or rotting trash.

"Okay, this way, Master, Mr. Sam."

Kurt didn't know what, exactly, his slave wanted to show them so badly but he was sure that there was absolutely no way it could be worse than this place as a whole. He had truly never been so sickened in his life. Honestly, after seeing this, he was starting to wonder if maybe Mercedes and his father weren't a little right. Slaves might not be people, but they deserved a thousand times better than this.

Kurt winced as he almost slipped on a pile of… something. Seriously, this place was *disgusting.* They really should just get out of there. His slave had wanted to make a point to Sam and it had. There was no way the boy would resist training after seeing this place, right?

"Just calm down. Relax. This isn't going to be you. It can't be you. You won't let it happen. You'll stop it. This… It's just to scare you. It will be okay. Everything will be fine."

Kurt grimaced at Sam's muttered words. It was obvious that the boy was trying to comfort himself, his wide eyes having taken on an almost glazed look, but they certainly weren't doing anything to make Kurt feel better. Sam was *still* trying to convince himself he could beat slave training after seeing this? Kurt was starting to wonder why he had *ever* liked the boy. Blonde hair and cut abs didn't make up for being a stubborn idiot. Talk about refusing to step up to the plate.

Slave Dave would never have acted this way, even if it had been told something terrible was going to happen to it. It would have done everything it possibly could to make the best of the situation. It would have analyzed the best way to deal with whatever was going to happen and acted selflessly to make sure that it went as well as possible. It would have pushed aside the fear and the anger and the hurt and faced up to it like a man. Or like a slave. Or like a man-slave.

Okay, yeah, that phrase didn't totally work since Dave wasn't a man. But the point was, Sam was letting his emotions cloud his judgement to the point of insanity and it was driving Kurt crazy. No wonder people didn't want First-gens as slaves if this was how they acted about everything. Slave Dave would never have let its feelings get the better of its duties.

Not that slaves had the same kind of feelings people did or anything. But it definitely would have set aside any feelings it did have to do what was best for its Master. Somehow Kurt didn't think Sam would ever get to that point, no matter how much training he had. Of course, that's why Sam should be a freeman and why Dave was such a very good slave.

Dave came to a sudden halt, wrenching Kurt from his thoughts. They were standing in front of a little tent made out of some large blankets propped up in the middle by rust-covered poles. It looked like the grown-up version of the forts little kids make out of sheets.

"Here we are," Dave said quietly. "Master… I feel that I need to warn you. What is inside… It is not pretty. But though it is not this slave's place to tell you how to act, I would ask that you keep in mind that though we are simple creatures, slaves do feel pain, and that the slave inside this tent was once a freeman himself, so it surely goes doubly for it. Know that it could very much use your kindness, Sir." It moved its gaze over to Sam. "And as for you, Mr. Sam, I would ask that you consider what has happened to the slave within this tent and, over the next few months of training, remember it. Think of it as… a reminder of why slaves must give their total obedience—even those that were once freemen."

Wow, Dave must really care about the slave inside this tent if it was even implying that its Master should act a certain way. And what could be so terrible that it would even think of stooping to such inappropriate behavior? This was really starting to make Kurt nervous.

Kurt took a steadying breath, careful to do so through his mouth and not his nose. Though he was starting to get used to the stench, it still made him gag if he drew too much of it in. "Okay, Dave. I'll be very nice, I promise."

Dave lifted the little tent entrance, gesturing for the boys to enter. "Its name is Vern."

It was shadowy and grey within the tent and Kurt was forced to squat down, the makeshift ceiling too low for standing. There was definitely no way he was going to sit on that nasty floor—somehow it seemed as if the smell was actually worse in here than out there, if that was possible. There was a male slave in the tent, lying on the floor with a blanket covering it. There was nothing particularly alarming about it—it had sandy brown hair and bright green eyes, and its smile seemed real enough, no insanity leaking through—but, for some reason, it made Kurt's stomach turn. There was a feeling of wrongness about it, though for the life of him Kurt couldn't figure out what was so very wrong with the picture.

"Hello, Vern," Kurt said softly, remembering the pleading look in Dave's eyes as it silently begged for Kurt to be kind to this slave. He wondered idly what sort of connection his slave had to this 'Vern.' "I'm Master Kurt Hummel, of the House of Claudia."

The slave's face brightened and it was like the sun coming out after the rain. "Oh, Sir, you're David's Master, yes? Slave David speaks extremely high of you, Sir, at every possible occasion." It lifted its head up a bit, glancing questioningly between Kurt and Sam, who had just entered the tent. "Is slave David here, Sir?"

"Yes, I'm here, Vern," came Dave's rumbling voice as he poked his head into the tent. It really wasn't big enough for all four of them, though Vern was remarkably small.

Kurt's stomach flopped again at the thought, and he was once again flooded with a feeling of wrongness. What was it about the slave in this little tent that was bothering him so very much?

From Sam's furrowed brow and the way he was staring at Vern with a rather calculating expression, Kurt guessed he felt it too. It was like there was something obvious that they should see, but it was just out of their grasp.

"Slave Vern was a freeman like you, Mr. Sam," Dave said quietly, tugging down its medical mask so that it could smile at Vern. "In fact, it was foreclosed upon as well. At sixteen, nonetheless. How old are you now, Vern?"

"I am almost twenty-three, David," Vern said, that bright smile still on its face. "It is very good to see you and I am very honored that you have brought your great Master to meet me."

Sam cocked his head to the side, eyes a strange mix of confused and disturbed. Kurt could understand the feeling.

"So why, exactly, did you want me to meet your friend, Dave?" Sam questioned slowly, eyes flickering nervously between the two slaves. "You wanted to show me a good example or something? 'Cause the fact that he lives here doesn't exactly speak for living up to Vern's standards. He still ended up in this shit hole, right?"

Vern let out a laugh, and there was something a little wild about it, just a hint of madness, perhaps. Maybe this Vern wasn't as sane as it had first seemed. Of course you probably *had* to be insane to be able to laugh at all in a place like this. "Oh, Mr. Sam, is it? I would suggest you avoid my standards at all costs, Sir. I take it that you are facing slave training at this time?"

Dave nodded its head in affirmation. "Yes, he is. Slave Vern was in training classes at your age, Mr. Sam. In fact, we were training at the same facility. He was not, however, a particularly good student." Dave's voice had gone low and breathy, and it reminded Kurt of the voice it had used when telling him bedtime stories as a child. "On the third week, we began pleasure training. Master Trainer Karofsky and Junior Trainer Brighton had decided to mix the Born-slaves and First-gens, hoping that the Born-slaves—most of whom already had extensive training-would be a good example to the First-gens. I was almost finished with my training at the time, but Vern… Vern was just beginning."

"I had never had a man touch me before," Vern said, quietly. "Not like that. When I was a freeman I… I was less than fond of men who mounted other men. I found it disgusting. So, when my turn came to be mounted by Master Karofsky… I panicked. I pushed him away and ran across the room."

"Master Karofsky didn't even stumble, the push was so light," Dave added, "and Vern barely ran ten feet. But that was enough."

Kurt's heart was racing, though he wasn't quite sure why. It was like his subconscious already knew something, something horrible, and was just waiting for his brain to catch up. "Enough for what?"

"Enough for this," Dave said as he reached out and, in one swift movement, pulled the blanket off of Vern.

It had no arms or legs.

Vomit rose in Kurt's throat as his conscious brain officially caught up with what he'd known in the back of his mind from the second he saw the slave laying there under that blanket. How could he have missed that the form under the blanket was one solid little lump with no limbs extending from it? There wasn't even anything left to hint at the body of a full person. Its arms and legs had been cut off at the joints, not even a semblance of a stump left.

"Vern the worm," Vern said in an offhand voice. "That's what they called me. Funny, yeah?"

Kurt was too focused on swallowing back down what he'd almost thrown up to respond. God, no wonder it smelled particularly putrid in here. The poor slave was lying in its own waste.

"No." The voice was Sam's. Kurt looked over sharply at him, taking in the terrified look on his face. "No. No! Th-there had to be another reason they did this. They wouldn't do this just because you… Oh my God…"

"The really funny part, Mr. Sam," Vern said, its voice serious. "Is that I didn't even escape the mountings. They kept me at the training facility for two years, pulling me out and mounting what was left of me every once and awhile to remind other First-gens of what happens when you disobey Master." Vern swallowed hard, a single tear running down its cheek, and suddenly Kurt couldn't think of this poor slave as an 'it' anymore.

"I am so sorry," Kurt murmured, moving to pull the blanket back up over Vern's mutilated body, but Dave stopped him.

"Let me clean the slave first, Master," Dave said, eyes pleading. "Make it as comfortable as I can."

"Of course," Kurt whispered, sitting back. "Is there anyone here who takes care of you, Vern?"

He smiled at Kurt, still that blinding flash of teeth, and Kurt wondered how someone could smile like that when their life had been reduced to being a lump of flesh trapped in a diseased warehouse, wasting away in their own shit. "There are slaves who help me, Master Kurt. And you have trained your slave well in the service of others. Whenever it visits with Master Elijah, it is kind enough to clean me and feed me."

"Yeah,well, I think that's natural talent in Dave's case," Kurt said, his voice hoarse as he stared down at Vern. "But I… I can't leave you here like this."

Vern flashed another grin. "You don't owe this slave anything, Sir. It owes you, for any kindness shown by your slave is kindness shown by you." His eyes moved over to Sam and he turned his head slightly so he could better see the boy. "Just please, please, please don't underestimate the consequences of your actions in training, Mr. Sam. Everything is unforgivable. Perhaps you might be lucky and get nothing more than a beating or a burning. But you could just as easily end up as me."

"I… I can't believe they would do this…" Sam said, his tanned skin a greenish color. "It's so wrong."

Vern made a movement that, after a moment of processing, Kurt recognized as a shrug. "Sadly I'm not really the odd one out, Mr. Sam. I'm just the one of the few full amputations that managed to survive more than a few weeks after its limbs were removed. The punishment… It's not uncommon these days. It makes a big impression on a class of First-gens and, with the economy crashing and all the foreclosures, slaves are a dime a dozen, Mr. Sam. Who cares if a few end up like me if it helps control the others? And it worked, right? I am a very good, polite slave, Sir. You have to be when you are completely helpless and know for a fact that they'll never be merciful enough to let you die. So please, please be careful." He let out a deep sigh, and Kurt could see tears rising up in his eyes. "Please, please, don't end up like me."

o o o

The path in front of him was paved in shit, a perfect metaphor for his life. Too bad it was also literal.

Dave grimaced as he stepped in what was definitely human feces. It was disgusting, but he really should get used to it since pretty soon he'd be living in it. And he wouldn't even have shoes then. What a life.

Okay, maybe he was being a little paranoid. It was hard to see his wonderful Master shipping him off to the pound, especially after seeing it in person. Besides, Dave was a good slave, a renowned slave. There was no *reason* to ship him off to the pound when he could surely be sold at auction for a fairly good price. He was a Born-slave, after all, and very few Born-slaves ended up at DISS. There was almost always someone from the hundred families that would buy them, especially a young, strong slave like Dave.

Yet there was something about this whole situation that was making Dave feel like he was as worthless as the pitiful wretches who filled the pound. What kind of slave was he that his Master was forced to look elsewhere for pleasure? He'd had six years to prove himself worthy of his Master, and apparently he'd failed spectacularly. Mr. Sam didn't even have any *training,* yet Master Kurt wanted him badly enough to go through all these machine-atrons—no, it was 'machinations'—to get him.

Machinations. January 23rd. Noun. The act of plotting or scheming. A tear ran down Dave's face. His fancy new words would be useless at the pound.

Still, he would be a good slave to the very end. Nothing in the universe could sway his loyalty to Master Kurt. He would do anything for his Master. He would kill another slavemaster for his Master if it pleased Him, though the punishment for doing so was death by slow torture that could sometimes last for over a year. He would perform in any manner at any time for his Master. He would submit to anything for his Master and be happy to do it. He would even help train Master's new slave, so that when Dave was gone he would know in his heart that Master was being well and faithfully served. Even if it hurt like hell to do it.

Dave shifted the clean bedding he'd picked up from the supply house back in forth in his hands as he continued down the path toward Vern's little tent, idly making a list in his head of things about Master that he needed to be sure to pass on to Mr. Sam.

1) how to correctly measure Master's bubble bath so that the bubbles would be big and shiny, like Master liked them, instead of small and frothy, which made His skin itchy

2) how to cut Master's sandwiches into little flower shapes to make Him smile

3) how to go about bandaging Master's scrapes when the jocks pushed Him down—Master liked it when you kissed them just a little to 'make it all better'

4) how to make His favorite smoothie, complete with little umbrella

5) how to hold Him close and kiss His neck when someone made Him sad

6) how to tickle Him behind his knees to make Him giggle and screech in His adorable way

7) how to lie very still during mountings so that Master could fantasize, but still manage to please Him in the way that made His back arch and His beautiful lips moan

8) how to blend the Red Hot Spark nail polish with the Very Berry Blue Shine to make Master's favorite nail color: a glittery, shimmering purple that they'd never been able to find in a store

9) how to—

Dave was startled out of his little reverie by the sound of a familiar voice.

"All I'm saying is that you deserve to go free, but since that's not possible thanks to the shit house we call government, we would be more than glad to help you out if you're willing to help us out in return."

Oh God, no. Dave clenched his fists around the bedding, jaw tightening as he searched for the source of the voice.

There. Kneeling a few feet away next to a small, starved looking girl with a wicked scar across her face. The one and only Santana Lopez.

"You got to let freedom ring, that's what my abuela always said—"

"You mean that's what your Mistress' mother always said," Dave cut in, his voice nearly a growl. "Isn't that right, *slave Santana*?"

The girl jumped in surprise at his voice, but recovered quickly, a sneer growing on her face as she stood, putting her hands on her hips. "Well, well, well, if it isn't Slave Dave. I hear you're bringing a whole new meaning to the phrase 'worshipping the porcelain god,' eh, Mr. Dave Trained-By-Karofsky?"

"Wait, I don't understand," the skinny girl said, wrapping her arms tightly around herself as she rapidly looked back and forth between Dave and Santana. "Y-you're a slave? I-I thought you said that you were looking to buy…"

Dave let out a harsh laugh, leaning forward and yanking out the badge that Santana had stuffed between her very ample breasts. "I know you can't read it, but it's definitely not gold, is it? Silver, for *visitor*. Oh, and by the way, I *can* read it. It says 'slave,' which is exactly what this girl is." He reached toward Santana's neck, grabbing at the heavy gold locket she always wore as she tried to bat him away. "Pretty necklace, right? Except it's no necklace. There's a tracking chip in that locket. This one is a slave, the same as you and me."

"Not the same as you," Santana snapped back. "*I* am part of a family. *I* am appreciated and loved by my owners. I am their *daughter.* You, slave Dave, are just a thing."

"You're right," Dave snapped back, voice a little pretentious. "I *am* just a thing. And so are you. Don't play your little mind games with this poor kid here! Feeding her a bunch of liberationist crap so that your Master and Mistress can use her for their wretched political games!"

Santana let out a short loud. "Their *wretched* political games, huh? That's a big word for you, David. And what's this about being able to read the badge? Sounds like you're one step closer to becoming a liberationist yourself every day. Next thing you know you'll be poppin' off that chastity device and whackin' off like a freeman."

"Never," Dave said vehemently. "This slave obeys its Master in *every* way!"

"This slave obeys its Master in every way," Santana repeated in a whiny voice. "God, I hate that slave babble. One second you're a 'me,' next second you're an 'it.' Make up your damn mind already! Are you a person or a piece of fucking plastic with a hole to stick it in?"

Dave snorted. "This coming from the girl with basketballs instead of boobs who's fucked her way through half the football team? If anyone's plastic, it's you, bitch."

"Bitch, huh? What would your precious Master think of you calling his fellow Glee-clubber a bitch?"

"You're Santana of the Lopez family," Dave said flatly. "Calling you a bitch isn't an insult, it's a fact."

Santana paused for a moment, cocking her head to the side before giving a little shrug. "True." She turned back to the skinny girl, still staring up at them from her place on the filthy floor. "Look, this is what I'm talking about, kid. Sir David Begsalot over there is right. I *am* a slave! More than that, I'm a Born-slave! But my owners don't treat me like a slave and, as soon as the Abolition of Manumission is reversed, I'll be a freewoman. And you will too, if you come with us."

"Don't listen to her!" Dave said, dropping to his knees next to the girl. She flinched a little at his sudden movement and he took a deep breath, trying to make his voice as calm as possible. "They're liars, um… What was your name?"

"Sheila," the girl said softly, the scar on her face making her sad attempt at a smile look even more pathetic.

"Right, Sheila. Maybe, someday, if they do reverse the Abolition of Manumission Decree, then maybe Santana *will* be a freewoman." He shot the girl in question a disgusted look. "Though the idea that any Born-slave would choose to pick up and leave their Master makes me want to vomit. My Master could declare me free for a thousand years and I would still beg to stay at His side. But she is *not* here to help you! Her so-called family and their precious Emancipation League use innocent slaves like you. They'll buy you up and send you on your little mission teeming with promises of freedom. Only that little mission will turn out to be something you don't survive. Then they can mourn your loss and add another name to the list of slaves who've 'revolted' so they can shove it in the elites' faces. You are nothing but a name on a roster to them! And that is not a real Master! A real Master would care about your welfare! After all, how can a slave serve if it's not cared for?"

"Oh, like she's so cared for now," Santana cut in, rolling her eyes. "She lives in a fucking shit hole. Literally. Five minutes out in the real world is better than having to stay in this dump."

"See?" Dave said, making a point to look the girl right in the eyes. "She isn't even defending her little group of crazies. She doesn't care about freeing any of you! She only cares about herself and how much her Master and Mistress can move up in the world if they manage to turn the common people against the elites."

Santana let out a dramatic sigh. "God, D120794A Karofsky, if you hate us so much, why don't you turn us in, huh? If you're one hundred percent against the liberationist cause, why don't you run to Master and spill your guts about us? The Emancipation League is listed as a terrorist organization. They could arrest my Mom and Dad. They could execute me or, better yet, slice me up like your Worm buddy."

"Don't call him that," Dave said sharply, standing up to look her in the eye. "Don't call him that, Santana!"

"Oh, does calling the worm what he is bother you? See, I find that funny, you know, since your trainer was the one who came up with the name. I remember that *he* found it quite amusing. And isn't the stupid little _homo servus_ supposed to jump and clap and shout 'yay!' at everything Trainer says?" Santana laughed at the look on his face. "Oh, does that piss D12 off?"

"You know what, Santana? You are a very lucky slave. You are very lucky that Marcus loved you so much. You are very lucky that I am loyal to my word. And you are *very* lucky that my Master has never asked me, flat out, if I know anything about the Emancipation League. Because when He does—and with this mess with Mr. Sam and all of Miss Mercedes' questions about the slave trade, I'm sure he will eventually—I will tell Him everything. Marcus was my best friend, other than Master, for many years. I swore an oath as he lay there dying—dying because of *you*, I might add—that I wouldn't tell anyone what you are." Dave laughed, a little maniacaly. "To think, he survived two years as a dog boy and two years working in the city sewers only to be killed when the slave-bitch he thought loved him stabbed him in the back."

Santana scowled deeply, her eyes darkening. "The thing with Marcus… It wasn't supposed to go that way."

"They threw him to wolves, Santana! Literally threw him to wolves, covered in pig's blood!"

"It is not my fault that the sick elitist bastards on the execution committee are overly creative, David."

Dave bared his teeth. "He was a dog boy, Santana! It was his worst nightmare. They used his worst nightmare to execute him in front of the entire estate because they thought he was a liberationist leader! Because they thought he was you! And still, once the wolves were gone and all that was left was the tiniest sliver of consciousness in a husk of meat, all he could do was beg me to protect you! The sick bitch who put him there!"

Santana's fists clenched. "I told you," she said tightly. "It wasn't supposed to go that way."

"Yeah, well, guess what? It did. And it got you all what you wanted! We have the first common born President ever and the Ciceros are foreclosing on people left and right, filling your pocketbooks and creating disposable pawns for your little schemes at the same time. You call yourselves liberationists? I call you the ones who throw their own kind to the wolves." He reached down, grabbing the bedding from where he'd dropped it. "Now, if you will excuse me, *I* have a fellow slave to help and a kind Master to serve."

He started off down the path then paused, turning on his heel to look back at the girl. "Oh, and Santana? I don't know what you and Ms. Sue have planned, but you keep your sick games away from Mr. Sam, or I swear upon my Master's life, I will turn you in. Then Ms. Sue will have lost more than one stupid slave scholarship. She'll have lost her sand bags, too."


	14. Ch 14: Questions

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o o o****  
><strong>**

**Author's Notes:** Okay, Chapters 14 and 15 are short because they are actually one chapter... you can't have one without the other. They got split up 'cause I also post this on Livejournal and 10,700 words was too much for one post there. When are they gonna figure out us fic writers need more space? So annoying! :(

o o o

**Chapter 14: Questions...**

o o o**  
><strong>

Three Years Ago…

Kurt's hands trembled slightly as he stared down at the magazine clutched between them. The edges had crumpled up, he was gripping it so tight, but he couldn't seem to make himself relax.

This was wrong. This was so, so wrong.

His throat felt dry and scratchy, and despite the vast size of his walk-in closet, he felt as if the walls were closing in around him. There was sweat gathering on his brow, though whether it was a result of his intense arousal or the sharp fear that his dad might waltz in at any moment, despite being out of town for the weekend, Kurt wasn't sure.

The pictures on the glossy page seemed to be laughing at him. Or maybe moaning in his general direction would be a better description, there being at least two men engaged in intimate acts on every page. Hell sometimes there were three or four. Damn them and their accusing butt holes.

It felt like Kurt's cheeks were on fire, a strange mix of embarrassment and pleasure flooding him as he gently traced the curves of a young man's buttocks with his finger tip. Of course, Kurt had seen plenty of buttocks before. It was the thing this guy had shoved between those buttocks that was really responsible for turning him into a human tomato.

Kurt took a steadying breath as he gently slid a hand under the rough denim of his designer jeans, cupping his hard on in his palm. Why, why, why was his body betraying him like this? He was a thirteen year old, red blooded male. He should be getting off to pictures of breasts and vaginas and monster trucks, not studying magazines full of nude men fucking one another in awkward positions. But soft, squishy breasts just didn't do it for him like the hard, cut pecs of a man.

What was he going to do? There was no way he could tell his dad about this. What would he think? And his grandparents! He couldn't even imagine the extent of their disappointment at hearing the heir to their household was a queer. Join us for the wedding of the soon to be Mr. and Mr. Hummel of the House of Claudia! Yeah, he didn't think that would go over too well.

Maybe… maybe it was just a fluke. Something he would grow out of. His hormones were out of control, attested to by the acne on his face, and Kurt was pretty sure that the boys at school were aroused by everything from bologna sandwiches to dead frogs. Not that he'd been eyeing their crotches or anything gay like that.

Kurt gritted his teeth as she stared down at the magazine. It wasn't such damning evidence. It could totally be a passing phase. He'd get over it in a few months and find himself a nice girlfriend and get married and make babies…

Kurt burst into tears as he flung the magazine as hard as he could, sending it flying into the closet door with a bang. He wrapped his arms around himself and buried his head in his knees. Why, why, why couldn't he be normal? He already had to work so hard to fit in, caught between the two worlds of the middle class and the elites, not really belonging in either. Wasn't that different enough? Why did he have to have this weight on him, too?

"Oh my God, are you okay?"

Kurt jerked at the voice, scrambling toward the back of the closet as the door creaked open to reveal his slave staring down at him, a worried look on its face. A surge of relief rushed through him. It was only his slave, thank God. If his dad had come home early from his trip and walked in on him right then, Kurt didn't know what he would have done.

"D-Dave," Kurt said as he wiped his eyes on the back of his arm, doing his best to compose himself. "I… I didn't know you were back from Discipline."

"I just returned, Master," it replied solemnly, kneeling gracefully in front of Kurt. "Are you okay, Master?"

Kurt couldn't help but smile a little at the genuine worry in its voice. At least when all his friends and family turned their backs on him in disgust he'd still have Dave. "I'm fine, boy."

Dave didn't reply, but it was obvious from the look on its face that it didn't believe him. "You didn't break another pair of heels did you, Master?" It glanced around the closet, obviously looking for whatever had offended its Master to the point of tears.

Sometimes Kurt's slave was too smart for its own good.

Dave's eyes found the magazine, laying rumpled in the corner, and it reached for it. Without thinking, Kurt slapped it across the face before it could touch the hated magazine. Dave immediately dropped into an extreme submission posture, parting its knees enough to plant its face directly on the ground, arms twisted tightly behind it, crossed at the wrists. Position #23, The Bowing Beggar, if Kurt remember his grandfather's training manual correctly. Or maybe #17, Desperate Prayer. Many of the positions were ridiculously similar. But then, considering that the whole manual was ridiculously *stupid*, Kurt supposed that was par for the course.

Seriously, did his grandfather actually expect him to quiz his slave on etiquette? He'd owned it for three years already, and he'd never tested it then. What was the big deal about turning thirteen that, suddenly, he was supposed to be all Super Mastery, doing stupid crap like trying to force it into disobedience simply to prove that it would disobey any rules at his will, then punishing it for said disobedience. Or, Kurt's favorite, setting up traps for it, say, starving it for a week then leaving food out to see if it would sneak a bite without permission.

Okay, yeah, personal slaves were supposed to be held to the highest of standards, and any slave that might defy its owner in even the slightest way didn't deserve to work in personal service. But like hell was Kurt going to waste his time making a slave who'd been loyal to him for three years prove itself over and over again just because it had hit puberty.

Kurt let out a sigh as he stared down at it, crouched on the floor before him, totally still. He couldn't even see the rise and fall of its chest. Why would he need to test a slave that was well trained enough to limit itself to breaths so small they were undetectable when it took up a slave position? He reached out, stroking a hand gently across its broad back. It didn't move, but Kurt could practically feel it rolling its eyes upward, doing its best to get a glimpse of its Master while keeping its face firmly planted on the floor.

"You know that you can be much too snoopy for your own good," Kurt said quietly, rubbing tiredly at his now red eyes.

"Yes, Master, it does."

Kurt leaned against the wall of the closet with a sigh, biting his lip as he continued to study his slave. It was amazing how different they were, despite being the same age. Where Kurt was scrawny and short, Dave was wide and tall. Kurt was all limb and no muscle, while Dave's arms were bursting with strength. Kurt looked about ten while Dave looked about twenty-five.

It was impossible to ignore how attractive Dave was becoming. It would never be traditionally beautiful—its bones were much too thick and its face much too round for that—but it was very appealing to the eye, especially its big biceps and tight buttocks.

On a whim, Kurt reached out and began to run his hands lightly through its hair, the familiar feeling helping to ease some of the knots in his stomach. Kurt understood why many of his middle class friends were anti-slavery, he really did. He could see how someone who had never felt the bond between Master and slave might see it as distasteful. But they didn't understand what it felt like to have a slave. What a pure, simple pleasure it was.

People were so complicated. Every day Kurt was bombarded with fear and worry about what other people wanted from him or what they might do to him or whether they liked him or not. You never really knew for certain what a person might do. Like his friend Shelley. One day they had been BFFs and the next she'd started a rumor that Kurt wet his pants while watching The Blair Witch Project. But slaves… You knew what slaves would do. They were simple, easy.

Take his slave, kneeling before him as stroked its hair, completely still. And it would continue to kneel there, totally still, until Kurt told it otherwise. It had acted poorly, fallen into a submissive posture, and if Kurt stood up, walked out of the closet, closed the door, and didn't come back for a week, it would still be there. It was loyal and obedient, and its only purpose in life was to please Kurt.

It was a heady feeling, knowing that you own something that can walk and talk like a person, yet only lives to serve you. He called it Dave, but he could call it whatever he wanted and it would answer. It was his, would always be his. Nothing he could say or do would chase it away. No matter how many people at school called him a loser and threw casserole at him in the cafeteria, no matter how many jocks in the halls called him a faggot, no matter how unpopular and unwanted he was, his slave would never abandon him.

His slave was so precious to him.

"Sit, Dave," Kurt said quietly, and his slave immediately sat up, returning to a normal kneeling position in front of him. It stared at him with wide, brown eyes and his stomach fluttered a little. "I… I have a question for you, pet."

Dave's back straightened a little and it ducked its head. "Of course, Master. It would be glad to answer any questions you have for it. It is only here to please you, Sir."

Kurt sighed at the endless use of 'it' instead of 'I'. It was obviously feeling guilty for sticking its nose where it didn't belong. Old fashioned slave etiquette stated that slaves should refer to themselves in the third person, as 'this slave' or 'it,' but almost all slaves now used the less awkward pronoun of 'I', except when they were trying to display their obedience. "Relax, David. Master isn't angry."

His slave's body relaxed, a tension Kurt hadn't even realized was there flowing out of it. "Thank you, Master." It licked its lips nervously, something that Kurt found strangely attractive. "What is it you would like to ask me, Master Kurt?"

Kurt wrapped his arms around himself, brow furrowing a little as he glanced over to where the magazine had landed. "I… I guess I was just wondering if you… if you know what it feels like." His face flushed as he turned his eyes back on his slave.

Dave frowned slightly, then said, "I am sorry, Master, but I don't understand the question. Forgive me, but intelligence is not what I was bred for."

Kurt laughed, shaking his head. "You're plenty intelligent, Dave, you just don't realize it." He took a deep breath, reaching over to pick up the magazine he'd thrown, making a point to only touch it with two fingers, like it was something nasty he didn't want to touch.

Dave glanced down at it as Kurt dropped it in its lap, and its eyes widened.

"I was wondering if you know what it feels like to… to be with a man."

o o o

Present Day…

Kurt stared down at his fuzzy pink socks, resting his chin lightly on his knees. His skin was pink and raw from scrubbing, his loofa reduced to a ratty mess. It had taken an hour to get the stench of the pound out of his hair. He'd declared the clothes he was wearing a lost cause, even though his slave swore it could get them clean. The truth was, he never wanted to wear them again, smell or no smell. Somehow they would always be connected in his mind to the pound, and the pound was something he never wanted to think about again.

Never in his wildest dreams had he thought there were slaves out there being treated like that. His experience of the slave trade was entirely from an elite perspective, and it was nothing like the pound. The slaves of elites usually lived together, fifty or sixty slaves to a manor, and dedicated their lives to the service of their Master. In exchange, their basic needs were fulfilled.

Some slavemasters were better than others, of course. Some of the less caring masters might define 'basic needs' as ramen noodles, cold showers, and slave shorts; and there were certainly some creative forms of punishment out there that could scar disobedient slaves badly. He had never heard, however, of someone mutilating their slaves then locking them in a cage full of shit to rot, which was pretty much all the pound was.

"Master?"

Kurt looked up at the soft voice, blinking back his tears as he attempted to smile at his beloved pet. From the look on its face, he wasn't very successful at hiding his distress.

"May I enter, Master?"

Wow, he must look really bad for Dave to specifically ask permission to enter his room. The bedroom was where his slave slept, on a small mat by the bed with an ankle chain they never bothered to use, at least when it was not in the bed with its Master. Dave seemed to have some sixth sense, however, for when Kurt needed some time alone, and always asked for permission to join him then.

At this point, being alone was the last thing Kurt wanted, but he wasn't really sure if he wanted the company of his slave, either. It was like one big reminder of what they'd seen today, hulking in the corner. Kurt sniffled, running his eyes up and down his slave's body.

Kurt loved that body. He never felt safer than when its arms were wrapped around him, never felt happier when it laid kisses along his cock, slipping it gently into its hot mouth, sucking until he gushed with pleasure.

Pleasure. Kurt's eyes dropped down to Dave's crotch, which could be seen clearly through the thin spandex of its shorts. Dave had given him so much pleasure. Had it really never received any, any at all?

Kurt took a deep breath, motioning Dave into the room.

"Pet," he said seriously as his slave climbed onto the bed, settling itself into a kneeling position in front of its Master. "I want to ask you a question."

There was a flash of something… fear, maybe?… on Dave's face, but it was gone so fast that Kurt wondered if maybe he'd imagined it. He furrowed his brow a little as he tried to figure out what, exactly, Dave could possibly be afraid of him asking it, then brushed it off as yet another of the strange behaviors it had been showing since this whole Sam thing started.

"Of course, Master."

"And I want a one hundred percent truthful answer, no details spared, no glossing over things with slave etiquette. It may be difficult for you, but I want a real answer, how you really feel, beyond your duties as my slave, even if you think I may be offended by the answer."

Dave's brow furrowed a little, but it nodded. "Yes, Master."

"I mean it, Dave. Say it."

"This slave promises that it will give a one hundred percent true answer, spare no detail, even if it fears Master may be offended. And it will gladly accept any punishment for offending Master," it added, almost as an afterthought.

"You won't be punished for offending me on this, David." Kurt said, hands playing nervously in his lap. "But before I ask you… I want you to take off your shorts."

Dave's eyes widened, but it immediately followed directions. How something as big as Dave could manage to look graceful balanced on a bed while pulling off skin tight shorts, Kurt wasn't sure, but somehow it did it.

Kurt took a steadying breath as Dave returned to its kneeling position, a position that seemed to be made for displaying its cock and balls. Kurt forced himself to study them instead of letting his gaze slip away like he usually did. He traced the thick bands of shining metal that forced a sort of steel cage around Dave's penis, ran his eyes over the thick metal ring that wrapped around the base of its cock and balls. It looked, well, kind of frightening, to be honest. Which was the reason he'd never wanted to address it in the first place.

"Master? You had a question for me?" Dave was looking at him curiously and Kurt cleared his throat, trying to calm his nerves. He took a deep breath then reached out, taking the slave's hand in his and squeezing lightly.

"I guess… I was wondering… what it feels like."

Dave's forehead wrinkled slightly. "I am sorry, Master, but I do not understand the question."

Kurt let his eyes drop back to Dave's crotch, the sight making his heart speed up a little. "I… I was wondering what it feels like… To wear that."

o o o

Three Years Ago…

"I was wondering if you know what it feels like to… to be with a man."

Dave's heart wrenched at the words and it took every bit of training he had not to reach out and pull his Master against his chest and hold Him right. All he wanted to do was wrap his big arms around the small boy and keep Him safe forever. But uninvited hugs were not appropriate, not appropriate at all, and Dave managed to restrain himself.

He had been scared when he'd walked in on Master Kurt, the small, delicate boy sobbing at the back of His closet. Dave hadn't know what could possibly have happened to make his beautiful Master so sad, and it had made his heart pound and his head feel light. In his worry, he had been a very bad slave, sticking his nose into Master's business, and he would absolutely be punishing himself later, but he'd wanted so badly to help Master, to wipe the tears from His cheeks and kiss His woes away.

This, however, wasn't anything that Dave could kiss away. This wasn't something a slave could help with at all.

He had expected this day to come eventually. While being effeminate certainly didn't make someone homosexual, it had been pretty clear from a young age that Master Kurt had leanings that way. Even in today's enlightened society, homosexuality was taboo to some people—especially the walking, talking steroids that hassled Master Kurt at school. It would be a difficult battle for Master from here on, and there was little Dave could do to help Him.

"Master, I am not certain if the things I am trained in would fall under 'being with a man,'" Dave said in a soft voice, taking a chance and reaching out to grasp Master's tiny hand. He considered it a good sign when the boy didn't pull away. "I have been mounted by men, and was trained in pleasure, but…"

He looked down at the magazine Master had dropped into his lap, some sort of gay pornography. He wondered idly where He'd gotten. Most likely one of the jocks at school had stuffed it in His bag as a cruel joke. Dave made a note to interrogate Puckerman about said offense. And by interrogate, he meant punch in the face.

"Mounting a slave is not considered the same as having sex with a freeman, Master, and I am uncertain of what the differences between the two are, since I am not a freeman and, therefore, mounting is all I will ever know."

Master stared up at him, looking scared and embarrassed and aroused. It was a strange combination and, for some reason, Dave's body seemed to find it very attractive, because his cock gave a twitch. Of course, his body found pretty much everything about Master Kurt attractive, didn't it?

"I… What is… Um… I mean…" Master Kurt cleared His throat and pulled His hands away, wrapping His arms around Himself protectively. "What exactly is… mounting?"

From the look on Master's face, the embarrassment was definitely winning now, and Dave's mind raced as he tried to come up with a way to put his Master at ease. "Mounting is…" Wow, this was harder than Dave would have thought. He'd never had to explain to anyone what mounting was before. "When a master, or any freeman, uses his slave for any purpose that would be considered sexual between two freeman. Fellatio, for example, or anal penetration. I was trained specifically for this purpose, Master, and it is why Master Elijah purchased me. A few slaves are trained to pleasure females, but I was trained to be mounted by males. I don't know that this would count as 'being with a man,' however, Sir. It's just… a mounting."

Master was avoiding his eyes now, cheeks even redder than before. "And… and how does that feel? Being… mounted?"

Dave paused, chewing on his lower lip as he considered. "I… I suppose it is usually somewhat painful, Master," he said slowly, not wanting to lie to his Master but not wanting to scare Him, either. "And fellatio is… uncomfortable, and surprisingly tiring." Dave winced as his Master's face fell even more. "But Master, please, understand that mounting is a one way pleasure. It is not meant for a slave's enjoyment. And it is really not bad. I always enjoyed when Master Karofsky mounted me. He often praised me for my abilities and would reward me with his touch. Which is something, because Master Karofsky has very little time to spare, certainly not enough time to sit around holding little slaves in his arms."

Kurt sniffed, rubbing at His face and looking overall miserable. "I'm afraid, pet. I… I don't even understand doing this stuff," he gestured vaguely toward the sex magazine, "much less what it means to *be* that. What am I going to do?"

Dave frowned, an idea forming in his mind. "I… I don't know what it means to be… that, Master. But, if you would like I… I could help you understand a little more about… this." He ran his finger lightly across the picture of two young men rutting against one another. He took a deep breath. "I… I am your personal slave, Master, and it would be my pleasure for you to mount me."

o o o

Present Day…

"I… I was wondering what it feels like… To wear that."

Dave blinked. Master Kurt was clearly staring at his genitals and, even if He hadn't been, well, Dave wasn't 'wearing' anything but the chastity device, anyway. "You want to know how it feels… to be in chastity, Master?"

Kurt gave a short nod, looking a little pale. "Yes, Dave. I want to know what it feels like to wear that… thing. And, remember, I want you to be honest, pet."

Dave swallowed hard, trying not to look as nervous as he felt. After what Dave thought of in his mind as The Terrible Bathroom Incident, his Master had never asked about his chastity device again, and Dave had simply accepted that he would wear it for the rest of his life.

"When you say how it feels… Do you mean how it feels all the time, or how it feels when I become aroused, Master?" He tried to make the words sound as clinical as possible. Dave was a pleasure slave. He had no problem speaking about things freeman would consider 'private' with just about anyone however, for some reason, speaking about it with his own Master was making him uncomfortable. It was just… awkward. Master was so very innocent… These were not things He talked about.

"Both. I want to understand it, to know how it works." Kurt's gaze was serious, so Dave assumed that the question was as well, though it sounded like a joke to him. Wasn't it obvious how it worked?

"Um, well, the metal cage is large enough to hold my limp penis snugly, but when I become aroused and it starts to grow and rise, the metal keeps it from doing so. I guess it's sort of like… muzzling a dog. You can't keep it from growling, but you can force its mouth shut so that it can't bite." He looked down at the cage in question, touching it lightly. "Of course, since Master does not remove it for maintenance orgasms, I report to the estate where my prostate is milked so as not to cause medical problems."

Master Kurt made a choking sound that made Dave frown. "I… I'm supposed to take it off?"

Dave blinked. "What? No, Master, of course not. You are not supposed to do anything, Master, I belong to you. I am happy to be in full chastity. I only report to the estate for milking because I assumed it was not something you would want to do yourself…" Yeah, he definitely couldn't picture Master Kurt spending half an hour with his hand up Dave's bottom just to clean out his prostate.

"Wait… What does that mean, milking?"

"It is a way to dispense with built up semen without stimulation of the penis. You go in from behind, massage the prostate, and it sort of… leaks out." Did his Master really not know this? He knew that Master Kurt preferred to avoid the topic of his chastity device, but he hadn't realized the extent of His lack of knowledge.

Master Kurt's lip curled up in a weird sort of way. "Does… Does that hurt?"

Dave cocked his head to the side. "Sort of, but not really. I guess you could say that it's sexually frustrating to an almost painful degree." He shrugged, then frowned at the look on his Master's face. Obviously the idea bothered Master Kurt, though Dave didn't understand why. He was used to sexual frustration, especially since his Master had a tendency to walk around naked after He'd had His evening baths. It wasn't a big deal.

"Well… what about that thing you wear? Does it hurt?" Master reached out, His hand hovering in the air above Dave's dick. Embarrassingly enough, that was enough to make his cock twitch in interest. Damn Master's beautiful hands.

Master Kust jumped at that, and if it hadn't been so inappropriate, Dave would have laughed. Instead he took Master's hand and gently guided toward Dave's groin. He then carefully wrapped his Master's hand around his penis before covering Master Kurt's hand with his own and giving it a little squeeze.

Dave closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as the blood began to flow from his brain to his dick. Goodbye mental capacity, hello severe discomfort. "Most of the time it feels like nothing. I've worn it for so long, it's like wearing shoes is to You, Master. Though when I switched from my original device to one with more metal rings, the weight did make some difference."

He breathed in through his nose, then exhaled from the mouth, shoulders shuddering at the feel of Master's hand on the thin slivers between the metal rings There was hardly any skin to touch, the slits were so narrow, but it was the most stimulation his shaft had ever gotten.

"It starts to burn between my legs, in a pleasant way, a rush… And I start to harden." And hardening he was. Dave bit his lip. "That's when the metal catches it. It digs into my skin, leaving my dick unable to rise any higher or grow any larger. It catches the cock ring and clenches down on my balls." His breath was coming too fast. "It's… uncomfortable, frustrating… painful. But mostly just frustrating. It guess you could say that it feels like… like a broken promise."

"Oh God," came Master's voice. He sounded shocked. "That's… terrible."

Dave opened his eyes in time to see Master Kurt shiver. He gave Him a comforting smile and released the boy's hand, looking Him deeply in the eyes. "No, Master, it's wonderful. It is a reminder, every time I get excited, of who I belong to. Master, it's a reminder of you."

Master stared at him for a long time, a look His face that Dave couldn't even begin to decipher. Finally He spoke, voice low and hoarse and a little desperate. "I want to know what it feels like, Dave. I'm tired of being so ignorant when it comes to you! Remembrance whips and diminishing equipment and stupid fucking chastity devices… I want to *know.*" He leaned forward suddenly, cupping Dave's face in His hands. "I need to know what this feels like for you, Dave." His voice grew soft. "What it all feels like."

Dave hesitated, unsure what, exactly, to say to that. "Well… I… I suppose, Master, if that is your wish… My old chastity device is in the closet. If you truly wish to know, Master, I could put it on you."


	15. Ch 15: And Answers

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o o o****  
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**Author's Notes:** Okay, Chapters 14 and 15 are short because they are actually one chapter... you can't have one without the other. They got split up 'cause I also post this on Livejournal and 10,700 words was too much for one post there. When are they gonna figure out us fic writers need more space? So annoying! :(

o o o

**Chapter 15: ...And Answers  
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o o o**  
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Three Years Ago…

"I… I am your personal slave, Master, and it would be my pleasure for you to mount me."

The words were like a punch to the chest, making Kurt's heart skip a beat. His head feel light, and he had to blink several times before he could really process the words. His slave wanted him to mount it?

No, not wanted. It was offering out of duty. It had said itself, mounting wasn't the same as being with a man. Kurt knew that Dave was, first and foremost, a pleasure slave, and that his grandfather had originally purchased it as a toy for himself. But, for some reason, he'd never really contemplated the idea of using it for that himself.

He'd had tea parties with it and played dress up with it and went to the park with it and made cookies with it. It was his friend.

No. No, that wasn't right. Slaves weren't your friends. They were your *slaves.* They were there to do whatever you wanted. Friends had a choice whether or not they wanted to hang out with you, eating scones and playing with makeup. A slave did not.

But still, Kurt wasn't exactly overloaded with friends. In fact, to be honest, Dave was probably the closest thing he had, slave or not.

"Master?" Dave was leaning forward slightly, its eyes inquisitive. "Are you alright?"

"Y-yeah," Kurt managed to stutter out. "I'm fine. I just…"

Just what? Didn't want to mount the thing he liked to pretend was his friend? Except, Kurt realized, he did want to mount it. In fact, he wanted to mount it a lot.

His arousal from earlier had returned with Dave's offer, and suddenly the glossy, untouchable men in the magazine seemed like nothing next to Dave's muscled body. Kurt took a steadying breath as he took a moment to really study Dave in a sexual way, for the first time.

Kurt had to admit that it was pretty sexy, even though it was still growing. Where Kurt looked awkward and girlish, Dave looked rugged and strong. Its face was round but handsome, with its loving smile and its carefully trimmed eyebrows—Kurt always made sure Dave plucked. And the way it looked at Kurt, like he was the best thing in the whole universe…

"I don't know what to do." Kurt blushed as the words came out of his mouth totally without his permission.

A strange look came over Dave's face and, for a second he was actually afraid that Dave was going to laugh at him and his lack of knowledge when it came to things below the waistband. But the slave just leaned forward and pressed its lips lightly against Kurt's. It was just a gentle peck, but it made Kurt blush as he lifted his hand up, caressing the spot.

"Don't worry, Master, I will help you," Dave said, sounding as patient as the day it had spent five hours trying to teach Kurt to roller blade. "If I may suggest… I believe the bed will be more comfortable for Master."

Kurt swallowed hard and nodded his agreement. Bed. Right. "Yeah, I guess that would be good," he said, voice a little shaky as Dave helped pull him to his feet.

His slave pushed open the closet door and Kurt stepped out, trying not to laugh at the irony of it.

"With your permission I will strip now, Master," Dave said softly, as if he was wearing more than a tiny pair of shorts.

Kurt gave a short nod, or thought he did anyway. He was still feeling lightheaded, as though caught up in a dream. "I guess I should take my clothes off, too?" Kurt winced at the stupid question, but once again Dave smiled patiently.

"If it pleases you, Master. Or you could just unzip your pants. It is not necessary to undress before mounting someone. Whatever makes you comfortable."

Whatever made him comfortable? Nothing about this situation was comfortable. Except… in a way, it was. Much more comfortable than it would have been with anyone else, anyway. Dave was his slave. Dave was safe. Dave wouldn't laugh at him or make fun of him or be disappointed in him. Dave would take care of its Master and do its best to please him.

Dave appeared in front of him, now officially butt naked, and reached for Kurt's western style shirt, using its big fingers to pop open the little pearl snaps. It carefully tugged the soft fabric from Kurt's jeans then reached up to push the shirt from his shoulders, letting it drift to the floor in a wave of purple. It was almost artistic, the way its hands began to trace their way down Kurt's slim chest, the swirling patterns it was drawing along his skin making him shiver.

It leaned forward, giving him another soft kiss on the lips that made Kurt flush, then suddenly dropped to its knees before him, fingers teasing along the edge of his jeans.

It rolled its eyes upward, locking them with Kurt's, then seemed to freeze. Kurt held his breath, the heat between his legs growing every second.

Slowly, so very, very slowly, it raised a finger to its lips.

Kurt swallowed hard, trying to collect himself. "Speak."

"If I may ask," Dave said, voice low and husky as it pressed its face against the bulge in Kurt's jeans, rubbing its cheek across it like an animal marking its scent, "how would Master prefer his slave during mounting? Do you prefer the strong silent type…." It slowly undid the button on Kurt's jeans then leaned forward, somehow managing to catch the tiny zipper in its teeth and slowly tug it down. "…Or do you prefer to hear your slave's pleeeeasure…?" Dave moaned softly as it stuck its nose into the open fly, rubbing against Kurt's quickly hardening penis.

Talk about a loaded question.

"Uh… uh… whatever you think's best… is fine…" The words came out breathy, with an edge of nervousness.

Dave pulled its head back, giving Kurt an encouraging smile. "This slave was meant for your pleasure, Master…" It crawled back a few feet, just far enough to lower its body, and flashed Kurt another smile before ducking its head.

At first Kurt thought it was going back into Posture #3.14 or whatever it was that it had taken earlier, but then he realized that it was kissing his cowboy boots, and not lightly like it had kissed his lips. It was kissing them like it expected them to suddenly mutate into a woman-slave primed and ready for breeding. But its eyes… its eyes were still rolled upward, locked on Kurt's face.

After a moment it raised its head up and glanced pointedly toward the bed. "If Master would like to sit, this slave would be happy to remove your shoes, Sir."

Oh, right. That made sense, removing his shoes before tackling Kurt's admittedly tight jeans. Very logical. Much more logical than Kurt was feeling at the moment. In fact, he couldn't seem to hold onto any one thought for more than a second before his brain was racing somewhere else, though the thoughts did seem to be staying in the general vicinity of his groin.

With much concentration Kurt managed to make it to the edge of the bed without falling over, quite the feat considering the circumstances. Dave didn't bother to get up, but crawled after him on the floor, its movements slow and dangerous, like some big cat stalking its prey in the jungle.

Kurt obediently lifted his feet for Dave to remove his boots.

"What about my socks?" Kurt said a little breathily as Dave started to rise. Wow, he really was the king of stupid questions today.

"Don't want your feet to get cold," Dave said softly, the lusty look on its face replaced for an instant with the soft little smile it got when being motherly.

Kurt let out a breathy laugh that was cut short when his slave basically tipped him backward onto the bed, using all those muscles to lift Kurt at the hips and tug down his jeans in one smooth motion.

Kurt felt a moment of panic as the sudden realization that he was a scrawny little boy, naked on his back, with a big, strong man towering over him and there was nothing he could do to stop that man from doing whatever he wanted. It was a crazy thought. Dave was his slave for God's sake and, even if it wasn't, he knew Dave would never hurt him.

Something on his face must have given his thoughts away, because next thing he knew Dave was on its back beside him, its knees drawn up and its legs spread almost painfully wide, arms held over its head as if they were tied to the headboard. The position reeked of helplessness and submission, the symbolism impossible to miss. Dave belonged to Kurt, and he could do whatever he wanted with it.

It turned its head to the side so that it could look him in the eye. "Shhh, Master, don't be upset. You have the power here, Master. This is all for your pleasure. There is nothing here that can hurt you. I am only here to please you." Dave's voice was soothing and Kurt's taut muscles began to relax.

"Now, Master, it's time for you to decide how you will want me," Dave said, pushing himself up. Kurt started to sit up as well, but his slave held up a hand and Kurt settled back down. Might as well let the one who knew what its was doing work its magic. Dave moved around until it was laying horizontally across the bed, belly down. It scooted around until its head was at crotch level, then used its elbows to prop itself up in what looked liked a very uncomfortable way so that it could reach Kurt's erection with its lips.

Kurt let out a gasp as Dave put a soft kiss on his throbbing tip, then moaned as that soft kiss became something deeper, its lips wrapping tightly around the head of Kurt's cock. The hot, wet feeling was amazing and Kurt let out a soft sound of protest when it disappeared.

"Don't worry, Master," Dave whispered, mouth close enough to Kurt's dick that he could feel its breath on his sensitive skin. "I promise we will make this…" Without warning it ran its tongue along Kurt's shaft like it was licking a popsicle. "…a regular pleasure." This time it engulfed Kurt's entire penis in one swift motion and Kurt cried out, hips thrusting without his permission. Then the feeling was gone once more and he hissed in annoyance.

"Dammit… Dave," he managed to choke out, shooting his slave was he hoped was a stern look.

"Shhh, Master," Dave said, even as it rubbed its face against Kurt's cock. "Mounting me will be so much better. But now is the time for you to decide how you want your slave. I can be on my belly, with you on top of me, rutting against my ass. Or on all fours, with you behind me, thrusting in. Or on my back, with my legs spread wide, you between them."

Kurt's breath was coming way too fast now, the images flashing through his mind making the ache in his cock almost painful. "I don't care," he practically moaned. "Any. All… Can't think…"

Dave pushed itsself upward, cocking its head to the side as it studied its Master. "Maybe this is too much talk for the first time, Master," it said. "You just relax, Master, and I will give you pleasure."

Kurt moaned as Dave was suddenly on top of him, one leg balanced on either side of his hips. The slave had one hand behind its back and, from the look on its face, Kurt guessed it was doing something to its ass. Either that or it had a sudden case of the stomach flu.

After a few moments it pulled its hand back, and Kurt saw that it was slick with something. He wasn't sure what, unless Dave kept a tube of lube up its butt just for special occasions—who knew with pleasure slaves these days—but he didn't really care. Dave wrapped its big hand around Kurt's cock, rubbing what was left of the gel onto his shaft, then leaned down to lick the little drop of pre-cum that had spouted from his tip.

In this position Kurt couldn't miss the way Dave's own cock was straining against the metal cage that confined it. It was mildly disturbing, seeing the rings practically cutting into what he knew had to be sensitive flesh, and he quickly moved his eyes to Dave's face, pushing it from his mind.

Dave smiled down at him, the big lug, a bright look in its eyes that put Kurt on edge, making him wonder just what he'd gotten himself into.

His question was answered as Dave rose up, using its hands to spread apart its butt cheeks, and impaled itself on Kurt's cock.

Kurt let out a rather girlish screech as he felt the tip of his dick slip into his slave. It was hot inside his pet, and so, so tight. Tighter than any hand could ever grasp. Dave slid down another inch, its eyes never leaving Kurt's face, and Kurt moaned. Down and down and down Dave pushed until Kurt could feel the slave's ass cheeks against his legs.

He wasn't sure how Dave was even maintaining this position, considering that its knees and lower leg were awkwardly twisted outward so that it could fully take him. And though Kurt was as deep inside it as he could go, it wasn't actually sitting on him, because there was next to no weight on Kurt's body. A quick glance of Dave's twitching thigh muscles and straining calves confirmed his suspicion. It was holding itself up by pure willpower.

Just when Kurt thought it couldn't get any better, Dave rose suddenly, almost but not quite pulling off completely, then dropped back down just as quickly. Up and down, up and down. Kurt threw back his head, digging his fingers into the covers on either side of him.

Then, like magic, he felt himself began to match Dave's movements with his own, thrusting up and down, up and down. It went on and on and on as Kurt was flooded with more sensations than he could ever have imagined.

"So… beautiful… Master," Dave moaned, wiping sweat off its face with the back of its hand. "You're so beautiful."

He was beautiful? Ha. *Dave* was beautiful, riding him like… like a soldier, or maybe a gladiator. Something strong and manly and hot as hell.

"Ooooh, Dave… I—"

Whatever Kurt had been about to say in the heat of the moment was lost as an orgasm ripped through him, making his hips buck and his shoulders shake. Dave cried out with him, though Kurt knew there was no way the slave, in its chastity belt, was feeling this kind of pleasure. But it was still gorgeous, watching Dave throw its head back and call out for its Master, its muscles rippling all over its body.

With one last cry, Kurt collapsed underneath his slave, suddenly feeling boneless. He lay there for a moment, staring up at Dave's sweaty, smiling face, too mind-blown to speak.

"Well," Dave managed to say through its heavy panting, a broad grin on its face as its slowly lowered itself down on next to Kurt, hands reaching over to cup its Master's face. "I guess now you know what it feels like, Master."

o o o

Present Day…

"Well… I… I suppose, Master, if that is your wish… My old device is in the closet. If you truly wish to know, Master, I could put it on you."

Kurt sucked in a loud breath at the thought.

"Oh God, I'm sorry, Master," Dave said, dropping its head into its chest and hunching its shoulders. "That was entirely inappropriate. Forgive me, Master. I look forward to my punishment for such a suggestion, Sir."

"No," Kurt said sharply, then felt guilty when his slave winced. "I mean," he said in a softer voice, reaching out to stroke Dave's hair comfortingly, "I think that's a good idea, pet."

Dave looked up cautiously, like Kurt's words might be some kind of trick, then took a deep breath. "I-I don't know, Master. I… spoke before thinking, Sir. To place such a device on you, Master, is… not right. I… I'm a slave. It is right for me to be in chastity. You… you shouldn't be restricted in that way, Master."

"Look, Dave," Kurt said, using Dave's hair to pull it toward him then wrapping his arms around it's head. "I… I've had a pretty crazy couple of days. It's… put some things in perspective. I'm obviously no liberationist. And I never will be, first and foremost because it would mean giving you up, and that's never going to happen, not in a million years am I going to be without my slave. But all this *has* made me think."

"I don't know much about perspectives, Master, but I agree, you certainly deserve to always have a slave. The best slave that you can have." Dave's voice cracked a little and Kurt glanced down at it, frowning at the depressed look on his slave's face. Why did it look so sad?

*Maybe because it wants to be free.*

The insidious little voice was like an icy wind in Kurt's brain, making him physically shiver, even as he struck it away. No. That was impossible. Dave was his slave, would always be his slave. It loved serving Kurt.

Kurt tightened his hold on Dave's head, quickly loosening it again when Dave gave a little grunt of pain. Kurt cleared his throat. "Um, yeah. Anyway, my point is, sometimes I overlook things when it comes to you."

"There is nothing to overlook, Master," Dave said fervently. "I am grateful simply to belong to you, Sir. You owe me nothing."

"A master is supposed to take care of his slaves, David," Kurt replied in a firm voice. "And sometimes neglect can be as bad as abuse. Ignorance is never an excuse." He shook his head. "All these years I've overlooked that chastity… thing… because it weirded me out. It was something that I didn't understand, and I didn't want to understand it, because that would mean thinking about the fact that my slave has a piece of metal wrapped around its cock and balls. Hell, I didn't even know that you'd never had an orgasm, or that some masters remove them at times, or that you had it… milked." Kurt grimaced at the word, wondering if he'd ever be able to dunk Oreos again. "The last time I used something on you without knowing what it did, I destroyed your back. If I had known what it did—"

"I would *never* have let you test the remembrance whip on yourself, Master!" Dave interrupted, pushing itself back into a sitting position, eyes wide. "Please, Master, forgive my rudeness—I look forward to my punishment—but I would never, ever, ever have allowed you to strike yourself with that. I would have stood between you and the whip if I had to."

Kurt held up a hand. "I know, I know. That's not what I meant. I wouldn't have tried to hit myself with a whip. I just should have researched the damn thing. But this isn't the same, Dave. I can't see blood running from gashes in your flesh when it comes to this chastity thing like I could with the whip, but I know it can't be comfortable."

"Master, there is no reason for a slave to be comfortable. I am happy to bear the device for Master's pleasure."

"Dave, haven't I always wanted you to be comfortable?" Kurt said, feeling a little hurt by the way Dave was looking at him. Did it really think Kurt wouldn't give a shit if the chastity thing hurt it? And the more Dave resisted letting Kurt try it, the more he figured the thing went far beyond simply being uncomfortable.

"Master," Dave said, voice a little shaky. "I have been in chastity my whole life, Sir." It rubbed at its face with both hands, then looked back up at Kurt, an ashamed look on its face. "I… I do my best to be a good slave, Master, but if it weren't for the device, this slave *would* have disobeyed its Master and… and…" Dave's breath started to come too fast, like he was about to hyperventilate, face turning a deep shade of red. "It would have disobeyed Master and touched itself." Dave spewed the last two words like they were the most wretched things it had ever spoken, its tone full of disgust. "I'm sorry, Master." Its voice cracked again. "I… I'm not worthy of you."

"Oh Dave," Kurt murmured, moving over and wrapping his arms around it again. "Don't be stupid. You're worthy of me. More than worthy of me. You're an amazing slave. Having a libido doesn't change that. To be honest, I don't really care about the touching thing at all. I mean, I'd rather not have wet spots all over my 400 thread count sheets, but if you want that thing off, we can do it."

"No, please," Dave said, actually sounding terrified. "Please no, Master. I… I…" He choked slightly. "Please, Master, I can't."

"What is it, Dave?" Kurt said, hugging his slave tighter. "What are you so afraid of?"

Dave just shook its head, refusing to look its Master in the eye.

Kurt let out a sigh. "Okay, then, if you won't tell me why you don't want to get rid of the thing, then I want you to get the other one so I can at least know what you're feeling, okay?" When Dave didn't answer, Kurt raised an eyebrow at him. "Okay, pet?"

"Yes, Master," Dave said, sounding miserable. "I will get the chastity device for you, Master." It stood, making its way over to the closet where they kept the bondage trunk. After a bit of shuffling of straps and chains it was back on the bed, chastity device in hand.

Kurt lifted it up, studying it carefully. It looked almost identical to the one Dave wore, only instead of seven metal rings, there were five. The rings were small, small enough for Kurt to wonder if he'd actually be able to get them on his dick, but if Dave had done it, he could, too. They were pretty much the same size, after all. The rings were spaced so that they almost formed the solid shape of a penis, but between each link was maybe a couple of millimeters of space. All of the metal rings were joined together at the bottom with a straight metal piece. At the front end there was a small part to cup the head of the penis, with a slit that Kurt guessed was for urination. On the other end there was a thick metal ring that was jointed into two halves that could close together, with a tiny slot in the middle where the padlock went. It sort of looked like armor for the penis.

Honestly, Kurt wasn't quite sure how he was supposed to put this thing on. It was obviously shaped like a dick, so it wasn't as though he didn't know which end to stick it in, but it looked so small, and the metal rings were set up so that it seemed impossible to slip your penis in without catching the skin on the little openings.

"Why didn't they just make it solid metal?" Kurt questioned, holding it up to his face. "I mean, why the rings? The metal strip at the bottom keeps them from bending like a necklace or whatever, so what's the point?"

"To make it hurt more," Dave said, its voice very, very quiet. It avoided his eyes. "Some of the skin can push through the slits, which makes the rings dig into your cock instead of just pressing against it."

Kurt winced, seriously wishing he hadn't asked. This thing was *really* freaky looking. He thought it had been bad seeing it on Dave's cock, but knowing it was about to go on his own dick… It had gone from squick to flat out disturbing.

"Would you like me to put it on for you, Master?" Dave questioned, startling Kurt out of his thoughts.

"Oh. Yeah," he said, dropping the device into his slave's outstretched hand and began to tug at his pajama bottoms as Dave moved off to the side, opening the bed stand's drawer.

"Lubricant, Master," it replied to Kurt's unspoken question. "I don't want to irritate your skin."

That was Dave, always worrying about Kurt's comfort, even when it was about to slip something onto Kurt's penis that was looking more and more like a torture device every second.

"I'll need to do it quickly," Dave said, voice soft as he silently rubbed lubricant along the inside of the device, "before my touch arouses you. It won't fit if you are aroused, Master."

"Right," Kurt said, suddenly more than a little nervous. What had made him decide this was a good idea, anyway? But if Dave could handle it for years, Kurt could handle it for a few minutes. It wasn't like he was planning to keep it on or anything.

Kurt took a deep breath as Dave lifted up its Master's limp penis and began to work it into the rings. Actually, 'work' was too nice of a word. *Force* it into the rings was more accurate. Kurt grimaced at the sensation. He had been right—the metal rings definitely scratched as Dave pushed him into the device. "Is it supposed to be this tight?"

"Yes, Master," Dave said, its voice unusually subdued and its face dark. His slave was obviously unhappy. It finished pressing Kurt's cock into the rings after what seemed like forever, though it probably wasn't more than a minute, then lifted Kurt's testicles and brought the final, jointed ring underneath them, carefully closing it around the whole of Kurt's cock and balls. Kurt grimaced at the tightness, a bead of sweat appearing on his forehead. Hell, this thing was uncomfortable *without* an erection.

"You get used to the feeling, Master," Dave said quietly at the look on Kurt's face.

"Okay," Kurt said tightly, closing his eyes for a moment and focusing completely on the sensation in his groin. The metal rings were very snug, though not so tight they did more than annoy him, really. The way the shaft holding them together was connected to the base of the device meant that Kurt's cock was straighter than it would be naturally, and hung a little lower. The tightness around his balls was the most annoying part but, overall, the thing was bearable. "This is… interesting."

Dave gave a short nod. "Shall we take it off now, Master?" Its voice was a little too casual, and Kurt shot it a look.

"Oh, will you relax?" Kurt said, pointedly placing his hand on his now caged dick. It was an odd feeling, the tiny slivers of hot skin against the cool metal. It occurred to him that, in all likelihood, that tiny bit of flesh was the only part of Dave's dick that it had touched since it was a kid. "I'm not a total baby, Dave. If you can wear the thing twenty four/seven, then I think I can handle it for ten minutes, okay?"

Dave bit its lip, running its hands up and down its arms nervously. "I… I just don't want you to hurt, Master."

"You said that it wasn't that bad," Kurt pointed out.

"I-I know, Master, but I am much more experienced with pain sensations—"

Kurt tuned his slave out, focusing on coaxing an erection. He ran his fingers lightly along his shaft, rubbing the small gaps where flesh peeked out, and drew up an image in his mind, of his slave slipping its lips over his cock, drawing him into its mouth… Kurt smiled as the blood rushed to his groin and—

Pain, growing between his legs. Kurt's eyes flew open and he grunted, gritting his teeth as the painful sensation of being constricted washed over him. His cock was trying its best to rise, but for every millimeter it managed, the ring around his balls dug in more painfully. His shaft was aching so badly that 'aching' wasn't even a good word to describe it. It was way too mild, but Kurt couldn't think of an adjective worthy of this feeling. His penis kept trying to swell inside the device, allowing little slivers of his flesh through the metal rings, making deep indentions in his skin. He would have called it a mild stabbing sensation if it hadn't been in his dick. But, since it *was* in his dick, mild definitely didn't apply. It hurt like hell.

Kurt began to whimper as he pulled his legs up to his chest, still gritting his teeth against the pain. It wasn't unbearable, but it was pretty close. His brain was buzzing, mixed signals flying everywhere. Pleasure. No, pain. No, pleasure. No, pain. Painful pleasure. Pleasurable pain. The battle seemed to go on forever until pain finally won out and Kurt's penis began to wilt, his erection disappearing rapidly. Kurt made a choked sound as the pressure began to slowly fade. This was more than ruining the moment, it was fucking torturous.

"Shhh, Master, shhh, it will be okay, Master. I'm so, so, so sorry, Master. This slave was a bad slave, should never have allowed its Master to do this. Forgive me, Master." Kurt blinked at Dave's distressed words, suddenly realizing that the slave had him wrapped in its arms and was rocking him back and forth.

"Get it off," Kurt whispered, feeling numb.

Dave gave a short nod, and reached down to open the device.

"No," Kurt said hoarsely. "Off of you. Get it off of you." He reached down, fumbling for a moment before he began to carefully inch off his own device, grimacing as it scraped against the tender flesh of his throbbing penis.

"M-Master," Dave said, eyes wide. "I… I can't."

Kurt gritted his teeth, not really in the mood for stubborn. "Take it off, Dave! Find the key to that fucking padlock—and don't even try to pretend that you don't have it since I know for a fact you have keys to every piece of bondage equipment in this house—and take that damn thing off. This is *horrible.* The fact that you've been wearing this… this… Oh God, I can't even think of a word for what this is! But the fact that you've been wearing it all these years makes me feel sick! So take it off!"

Dave shuddered, then suddenly dropped down on the bed, head on its knees as it bowed before him. "Please, Master," it said, voice hoarse. "Please don't make me take it off. Please."

Kurt shook his head in disbelief. "Why in God's name wouldn't you want that thing off?"

Dave buried its face in the bed, mumbling something that Kurt couldn't discern.

"Dammit, David, please sit up and talk to me!"

Dave pushed itself up, sniffling, and Kurt reached out, hugging it close. "Please, just explain it to me."

There was a moment of silence that seemed to stretch on forever before Dave finally spoke, its voice soft and timid. "Because I want you too much, Master. I want you so bad. Every time you mount me, I get such selfish, selfish thoughts." It sounded miserable. "I was a good slave, Master. I was well trained. But when you're in me… it all gets confused. I want so bad to be worthy of you, but if you take off my device, I won't be. I won't be able to hold myself back." It gave a little sob and Kurt held it more tightly. "You see how it feels. It's supposed to eventually train you not to get hard. And I don't. I mean, except when you're in me, or I'm watching you, or just thinking about you." Dave made a frustrated sound. "I haven't gotten hard when I sleep or for any other reason in years. But I do for you. I get hard for you all the time."

Kurt swallowed hard, a lump rising in his throat. What did you say to that? "Dave… Maybe that isn't a bad thing—"

"It is!" Dave said, pulling away from its Master. "I want to pleasure you. That is all I want to do. I don't want to cum! I don't want to be distracted. I want to focus on you, all the time! I belong to you. I love belonging to you, Master! I don't want this body doing stupid things that distract from Master!" It collapsed back into Kurt's arms, tears running down its face. "Please, Master. Please don't take it away. I want to be yours. I want to be yours *forever.* I don't want to lose you. It reminds me of you, and I want to be with *you.*"

"David… After feeling that… I don't know how I can leave it on you, puppy," Kurt said, voice pained. He sighed as Dave's sobs increased, and began stroking his head. "Okay, okay, it can stay on for now, okay, pet? We… we'll figure out something later, when we're both a little less exhausted. Maybe some sort of compromise, okay? You just shush now, pet, and I'll take care of you, I promise."

Kurt hugged his slave even tighter, feeling shell shocked and hollow. God, the depth of emotion Dave had shown for him… He had no idea his slave felt that strongly for him. He knew that it loved him as Master, but somehow this seemed to go beyond that. And what was he going to do about that horrible device? It was bad enough that Dave had never been allowed any pleasure, but the fact that it suffered through that pain because of Kurt, and *only* because of Kurt… It was heartbreaking. He let out a tired sigh. Well, like he'd said, they would figure it out later, when they were a little less exhausted.

But, if nothing else good had come from the evening, at least now he knew what it felt like. Kurt Hummel wasn't ignorant anymore.


	16. Ch 16: Too Cool For School

****If you would like to read this on my livejournal instead of the evil ff net, you can find it at****

**** ****pucktheperv +DOT+ livejournal +DOT+ com +SLASH+ tag +SLASH+ bornthisslave********

o o o****  
><strong>**

**Author's Notes: ** Okay, again with the effing chapter size in Livejournal. Damn my need for writing excessively long chapters! Once again a 10,000 worder got chopped into two pieces (Chapters 16 and 17) but these, at least can stand on their own. So it's two-for-the-price-of-one tonight! :D

o o o

**Chapter 16: Too Cool For School**

"I'm sorry, ma'am," Master Kurt said, His voice a little higher than usual. "But I don't understand." He was obviously nervous, kneading the Coach bag in His lap like it was a loaf of very expensive, designer name bread. Dave forced himself to keep his hands clasped firmly behind his back, resisting the incredible urge to reach out and take His hand, or at least turn his head to the side enough that he could nuzzle Master's leg. But that wasn't proper slave etiquette and if there was ever a place for Mistress Manners, it was here.

"It's quite simple, Master Hummel," the pinched-faced lady behind the desk said, pushing her wire-rimmed glasses further up her pointy little nose. Not that Dave was watching or anything. Because that was totally not his place. It was just that he was kind of tall and the desk was kind of short and, okay, maybe he was kneeling with his back a little straighter than it should be, and maybe his eyes were flicking back and forth between the floor, his Master, and the training center coordinator, but that was because he had something in his eye, not because he was being a bad, nosy slave.

Yeah, right.

"D120794 is over-qualified for out program." The woman looked like she had eaten something bad that morning, but Dave got a feeling that it was her normal face. It didn't surprise him. Being a trainer at a facility as crappy as the Hundred Houses Training Center would make anyone look like that. Either this woman had done something really bad in her previous life or she was a really shitty trainer, because working at a Double HTC was kind of like the slavetrainer equivalent of working for the garbage company.

"How can you know that?" Master Kurt asked incredulously. "You haven't even looked it up." He gestured toward the registration card He'd handed her. "There's nothing about its training on there."

Dave gave a silent snort. She knew because he wasn't dancing around the office singing an AC/DC song while doing The Twist. The Hundred Houses were public, federally owned training centers scattered across the country, and having a Double HTC listed on your pedigree wasn't exactly a selling point. They got the runoff here, mostly foreclosures with bad attitudes with a few feral Born-slaves thrown in for good measure.

"Master Hummel, we simply cannot enroll a trained slave in our program. That is not what the Double HTC does." She was starting to sound annoyed.

"I realize that he can't be in basic training, but what about continuing education courses?" Master looked exhausted as He continued to knead at His bag. He had dark circles under His eyes and His hair was uncharacteristically messy. Dave felt a surge of guilt. His Master had gotten next to no sleep the night before thanks to Dave's breakdown. As if He needed anything else on His plate right now with this whole Mr. Sam mess.

It had been obvious that Dave's sudden explosion of emotions had confused and frightened his Master. It was shameful, the way he'd purged every thought that flittered through his mind when he should have held his tongue and comforted his Master, doing his best to alleviate both the mental and physical pain brought on by the chastity device. But when Master had commanded Dave to remove his own device, he'd lost it, all the fear and pain that had been building up over the past few days pouring out like a flood.

The command had been a slap in the face, stripping him of any hope that Master might want to keep him around for menial tasks after taking Mr. Sam as His pleasure slave. If He no longer cared enough about Dave to keep his manhood under lock and key, He must have no interest in the slave's future at all. Trainer Karofsky had made it very clear that restrictions and bindings were an example of Master's love for His slave. They were there to protect the slave from committing punishable offenses, therefore saving both Master and slave the pain and effort of a whipping.

In his terror, Dave had lost it, his training failing him as he sobbed out a desperate plea, begging Master not to abandon him. As if he had *any* right to decide whether he was worthy of serving his Master. He'd broken training, letting his feelings loose, and it had ended in catastrophe, just as Trainer had said it would when he was still an emotional little boy-slave.

When Master had asked Dave why he didn't want to remove the device, he should have either immediately obeyed or come up with a plausible lie that would appeal to his Master's sensibilities, not spat out the truth with no regard for Master Kurt's feelings. But he had been caught by surprise, unable to think of anything off the top of his head to explain why he wanted to retain the uncomfortable device, yet so desperate to stay with Master that he had obeyed a direct order with no good reason. Yet another fail when it came to training.

Slaves were well schooled in the art of lying to please their masters. Not about important things like where they were going or what they'd been doing or who broke the cereal bowl while doing dishes, of course. Any slave who lied about those things deserved a whipping. Lying about insignificant things, on the other hand, like their feelings or opinions, was quid pro quo. It was a slave's *job* to lie about any emotions that Master would disapprove of, so as not to burden Master down with its feelings.

It was a handy skill, this sort of truth-stretching, most useful during punishment. It was difficult to stay respectful and humble during a whipping, but it was not a slave's place to be anything but grateful for a beating, even if they were angry or hurt inside. Being well practiced in remaining obedient and gracious no matter what you were feeling inside, to the point where it became automatic, made it possible to suffer through almost anything with a smile The way Dave had acted last night had been a terrible lapse.

There was *never* a place for emotions like fear or sadness or humiliation outside of situations where they were for Master's enjoyment, such as during a rough mounting. He should have calmly told Master Kurt that he would prefer to stay in chastity so as not to compromise his abstinence, then accepted whatever his Master decided. Instead he had sobbed like a teenager whose prom invite had been turned down, making his Master feel sad. Unforgiveable.

Dave prided himself on being a particularly good slave, though he accepted that he was only the clay molded by his trainers. He had always been good at taking inappropriate feelings and using them to reinforce his place in the world as he had been taught as a slave-child in early training.

Fear was a reminder that Master owed you nothing, that everything you were belonged to Him, and that it was only by His grace that you were not afraid all the time. Humiliation was a reminder that you were only a possession, that any ideas you might have gathered about having any importance in this world or being anything other than an object for Master to use were foolishness. Anger was a reminder that Master had a right to hurt you any time He wanted, that no reason was needed for anything He might choose to do to you, and that the only one you should be angry with was yourself for forgetting that, if not for Master's grace, you might spend your entire life in pain.

To be a good slave, you had to embrace the fact that you had no right to any emotions, and from the troubled way Master Kurt had looked at him when Miss Mercedes had forced Dave to admit that public bondage was embarrassing, Dave guessed he'd done a very good job of suppressing any stray feelings. Enough so that his Master hadn't realized slaves had any real feelings at all. Master Kurt was apparently unaware of the years of training a Born-slave went through to perfect the art of submission and acceptance of one's place.

Of course, Master Kurt knew very little about the nitty gritty of the slave industry. His only real experience was seeing the already well trained slaves on the estate. He'd never attended an auction or seen a training facility. He'd never visited a breeding farm, where they put down the slave-kids who were overly emotional or who grew deeply attached to particular people. The thought made Dave want to shudder—he'd been rather sensitive as a slave-boy and had come close to being put down himself at one point. Master hadn't even bothered to do more than skim the manuals Master Elijah had given him. So why would Master Kurt think that slaves felt in ways similar to freemen? They weren't the same, after all. For all his Master knew, Dave might have less emotions than an animal.

Not that Dave was bothered by his Master's ignorance. It was a compliment, the fact that in six years Master had never glimpsed anything but eager obedience in His slave. Even on his worst days he'd managed to hide his emotions. Like the day an angry Master Kurt had spent hours viciously describing everything aesthetically displeasing about Dave's admittedly chubby body. He had hidden away his anguish, shoving down the part of him that wanted to cry over the realization that he would always be too big and too ugly for his Master's favor. Oh, and the time a week ago—had it really only been one week?—when Master had been joking about the boys at school and said that it must be difficult for a mammoth like Dave to be surrounded by boys who looked like Finn and Sam and Puck. Though Master had been teasing, it had felt like a stab to the heart to know that Master disdained his appearance so much. Especially since there wasn't really anything he could do about it. No matter how hard he worked out he would never look like Mr. Sam, his bones too big and his face too round.

Of course, a week ago it had only been heartache, and Dave knew how to handle heartache. But now, just a few crazy days later, the feeling had morphed into something much more painful. Even the Word a Day calendar didn't have a word to describe how Dave had felt when he'd realized that Master's dream boy was up for sale and Dave was finally going to be punished for his unappealing looks. Still, he had mostly managed to hide those feelings from his Master, though they tended to bubble to the surface now and then. But last night… last night Dave had truly failed Him.

Burdening down your Master with things as silly as feelings was shameful. Feelings were a wicked by-product of pride and pride had no place in a slave's life. Dave's feelings meant nothing, were nothing. It was selfish to spill them out upon his Master, weighing Him down with something so useless, so stupid, so _meaningless_.

'T_he slave's feelings are meaningless,_' Dave recited silently, seeing Trainer Karofsky's feet in his mind as clearly as if the man was standing before him. He bowed his head as he felt the ghostly sensation of fingers running across his cheek. '_The slave has no will other than the Master's. As a possession of the Master, the slave must and will strive to bring the Master complete and utter satisfaction. Any feelings that do not suit this purpose must and will be suppressed._'

The guilt grew even heavier in Dave's chest as he imagined what Trainer Karofsky would have said about his outburst. Or what he wouldn't have said, considering that Dave probably would have been on the first transport to the pound if he had acted in such a way in front of Trainer. Dave's duty as a slave was to please Master, not upset Him.

He was a failure.

"Dave?"

Dave was jolted from his thoughts by his Master's voice. "I'm sorry, Master, my mind was drifting," he admitted, cheeks growing red in embarrassment. The sour-faced woman behind the desk made a huffing sound.

"Ms. Curel here says that you're over qualified for their program." Master shot a glare at the woman, then looked back down at Dave. "Though she hasn't actually bothered to look at your records." The words were cutting and Dave winced a little at the look on the woman's face. He was his Master's slave, but he still didn't like upsetting trainers. It never led to anything good, in his experience. "I was hoping you might have some… input… on this situation." Master sounded stressed, worry lines deepening on His forehead.

Dave frowned. Obviously Master was hoping that Dave could talk his way into this place. The only problem being that the woman was one hundred percent right. He *was* overqualified for the Double HTC. This was a crap program; he was a good slave. He'd known coming here that it was probably a lost cause, but he'd figured it had still been worth a try. Maybe the place had grown so crappy that they didn't even bother to look at slaves before they enrolled them. But the way Master was studying him, His blue eyes pleading, practically begging Dave to pull some kind of magic out of a hat… He had to do something.

Lying about his training would be useless. All it would take was one scan of his bodily tracker and every bit of training he'd ever had would pop up on her computer screen. But how else could they get him registered? Hm… The Double HTC wasn't exactly known for their employee benefits. Maybe if Master Kurt offered the coordinator a "special" donation? As in the kind of donation that went straight from Master's purse into the woman's pocket? It was a possibility. God knew the slave trade was all about money changing hands.

Dave wasn't quite sure how to suggest such a thing to his Master without seeming totally out of line, so he leaned heavily against Master Kurt's leg, looking up at him meaningfully, trying to express his need to speak to Master in private through his eyes.

Apparently they weren't on exactly the same wave length, because Master just patted the chair next to him. "You want to come sit up here, Dave? Looking down at you is starting to hurt my neck." Not exactly the response Dave had been looking for, but at least sitting next to Master would make it a little less awkward to lean over and whisper in His ear, so he climbed to his feet, frowning at little as he looked down at the chair.

Dave didn't really feel comfortable sitting on the furniture at a training center, it being very much against slave etiquette to lounge around when you could be kneeling, but it was Master's decision. He settled on the very edge of the chair, sitting as straight-backed as he could, hoping that anyone glancing through the blinds would recognize that he was breaking protocol on Master Kurt's instruction, not because he was a pitiful excuse for a slave who took advantage of his Master's kindness.

Despite having belonged to Master Kurt's family for six years, Dave still felt an obligation to portray Trainer Karofsky's work as best he could in public, and Dave was well enough known by slaves in the area to be recognizable. Master Elijah had actually loaned him to training facilities—albeit much nicer training facilities than this—a few times to work as a demonstration slave, and since the Double HTC tended to augment their training program with slaves so that they didn't have to waste money hiring more than one or two *actual* trainers, one of the training-slaves walking the hall might very well recognize him as Trainer Karofsky's work.

The last thing he needed to add to his growing pile of migraine inducing problems was some gossip about his decline from a nationally recognized pleasure slave to the sort that sat on furniture instead of kneeling properly. Unfortunately, being a slave didn't eliminate the human tendency toward highschool-esque drama. Slaves who were shown at competition or were used to train other slaves were particularly bad about gossip, and since a crap place like this was filled with former showboats turned training-slaves—a double whammy—it was probably filled with gossip.

Wait a minute. Dave blinked, and shoved aside the incredible urge to smack himself upside the head. God, when had he become such an idiot? Forget bribing his way into the classroom in hopes that he could lend Mr. Sam a little moral support. He was going to be his trainer.

Dave sat up very straight as the plan quickly fell into place in his mind. This could totally work. In fact, this was a perfect solution. The feeling of despair at the idea of his eminent replacement once again made a pitiful attempt to rise up inside him and Dave pushed it back down, forcibly rearranging his world view into something less selfish and more suited to the good slave he supposedly was. His purpose was to please Master, and Mr. Sam was what pleased Master. It was selfish to feel any jealousy; he should be thrilled at this chance. He could simultaneously protect Mr. Sam from ending up at the pound and help craft him into the slave that Master Kurt deserved. Dave should be excited at this opportunity. No, he *was* excited. For Master Kurt's sake he would be very, very excited.

Dave raised a finger politely to his lips, keeping his eyes respectfully lowered. An important part of this plan was making the pinch-faced woman—Ms. Curel, Master had said?—actually want him at her facility, so making it clear that he wasn't totally etiquette challenged would be a good start.

"You can speak," Kurt said, a curious twist to the words.

"Master, I request permission to speak freely in front of Mistress Curel. I think I may have a solution to our… dilemma, but I will need to have free reign to speak in order to present it."

Master Kurt's brow furrowed a little, but he gave a little shrug. "Sure, Dave. Obviously I'm getting nowhere. Do your thing."

Dave took a deep breath, steadying his shoulders as he turned to face Ms. Curel. "Mistress, my Master did not come here because He wanted me to take classes at your facility."

Master made a choked sound, but Ms. Curel's pinched face smoothed out a little, the deep line between her eyes disappearing.

"Yes," she said dryly. "I had come to that conclusion awhile ago, slave D. It is obvious simply from the way you hold yourself that you are trained far beyond what this center does. I wasn't always a coordinator for this place. I was once a trainer with merit, before I got hit with the politics train and the Double HTC was the only place that would hire me. I appreciate your candor, on your master's behalf." She leaned back, steepling her fingers. "So what is your Master here for, slave D?"

"My Master is interested in a recently foreclosed upon slave who is scheduled to begin its training at this facility tomorrow. It is called Sam Evans, for now. It is young and attractive and its evaluation will certainly declare it Highly Qualified in Beauty, as well as Physical Strength and Genital Proportion."

Master Kurt made a surprised sound, His eyes wide, and Dave plowed on quickly, saving the conversation about checking out jocks in the locker room showers for another time.

"Unfortunately, like most First-gens, this slave has temperament issues. Master would buy it now and have it trained Himself, but since it will not officially be declared a slave until its six month of training are up, He cannot do so. He wanted me to attend classes here so that I could keep an eye on it and make sure that it did not act out in any manner that might leave it scarred or otherwise undesirable."

Mr. Curel nodded, eyeing Master Kurt with a new respect. "A very good plan, Master Hummel. It's good to see a young slavemaster who knows how to go after what he wants. So many of the young ones these days just wait for their families to hand them slaves on a silver platter, taking no interest in its origins or training. When I was young, we had more respect for a slave's training. We spent time making sure that they were crafted to our taste."

Master Kurt looked a little uncomfortable, his hands once again kneading at His purse, but He managed a tight smile. "Um, thank you, Ms. Curel."

"Please, call me Jennifer. So. If I may ask, what is your solution to this, slave D?"

"Dave," Master cut in. "Its name is Dave."

"Slave Dave," Ms. Curel corrected, looking over at him.

Dave bowed his head respectfully. "To my trainer's honor, I have won seven national level pleasure competitions in the youth division. My training in pleasure services began at a mere two years of age, at least five years before your everyday pleasure slave begins its training." There were suddenly fingers digging into his arm, clamping around it almost protectively, and Dave looked over, wondering if Master wanted him to stop. Master Kurt was staring at him with a funny look on his face, but it wasn't anything that made Dave think he was out of line, so he continued. "I was also one of ten pleasure slaves chosen to serve the visiting dignitaries at the International Slave Trafficking Committee conference in 2003, as an example of the pleasures America has to offer."

Ms. Curel was looking appropriately impressed. "Hm. That is… quite the record. You must have paid a hefty price for this one." The words were directed toward Master Kurt, but He didn't respond, still staring at Dave with that strange look on His face. Dave gave Him a little nudge and He started, turning back to Ms. Curel.

"What? Oh, uh, I actually don't know what it cost. My grandfather bought it for himself… I just sort of ended up with it because my mom died and my grandpa felt bad that I didn't have any friends." The hand on Dave's arm gave him a familiar little squeeze. Dave hid a smile at the feeling.

"Well, I'm sure it was a lot. But as impressed as I am with your slave's pedigree, I am still not clear on its intentions…"

"I would like, with my Master's permission, to offer this slave's services to this facility for the next six months, free of charge. Though it has never worked as a training-slave, it has acted as a demo-slave in the past. The only condition being that it would be allowed to work in whatever class the foreclosure slave called Sam Evans is assigned."

A confused look passed over Master's face. "Wait, offer your services? What's a training-slave?"

"A training-slave is a slave who works under a registered trainer to help train slaves when there are more slaves than the true trainer can handle, Master," Dave replied.

Ms. Curel's lip quirked in amusement. "Also known as a cheap way to pump out lots of sloppy slaves. But God forbid the federal government invest in good training." She sighed, shifting in her seat. "Your slave is impressive, Master Kurt, but I am really not sure this is a good idea. It has no experience as a training-slave, so why should I be bothered to take it on? I would suggest that you go to the Slave Labor and Processing board and request a transfer for this Sam Evans slave. It shouldn't take more than a month or so to get it transferred to a facility that will allow you to keep an eye on it, if you are willing to pay the fees. I really don't need another training-slave."

Dave nodded his head respectfully, even as he geared up for the final punch. "I do understand, Mistress Curel, however, before you make your decision, I would also like to mention that my eight years of training were under Master Trainer Paul Karofsky."

Ms. Curel's eyes widened, fingers tightening into fists even as she tried to school her voice to sound unimpressed. "Master Trainer Karofsky? Really? That's… interesting."

Dave held back a smirk. It was more than interesting; it was a gold mine. Trainer Karofsky was one of the top trainers in the country. Having one of his slaves as a training-slave at her facility could very well double the number of slaves enlisted in the program by their paying masters. The Double HTCs didn't get much in the way of masters who actually paid for their services, their specialty being government funded runoff. But sticking a name like Master Trainer Karofsky on her center could make even a Double H do well.

Master looked confused as Ms. Curel turned to her computer, cracking her fingers before she began to type. Dave shot Him a comforting little smile.

"Okay, so, we have… ninety-three D120794s in the Born-slave database. Sixteen of which are in Ohio. What are the first four digits of your tracking number, slave Dave?"

"0746," he recited.

The woman began to type. "Okay, let's see here… slave D120794 point A, tracking number 0746 dash 892 dash X dash 77. Born December 7th, 1994, bred by Mistress Glory Toki. Hm, I used to know her, back in the '80s. She had good stock. Still does, I guess."

Dave bowed his head at the compliment, cheeks reddening slightly. "Thank you, Mistress."

Master was still looking a little lost. "They have slave breeders?"

Ms. Curel made a soft sound of amusement. "How did you think slaves were born, Master Hummel? The slave stork? Good God, what do they teach you kids about slavery these days?" Apparently the question was rhetorical, because she continued on without pause. "Sold at auction at one years, eleven months of age to Master Trainer Paul Karofsky."

"God, that's young," Master said under His breath, too quiet for Ms. Curel to hear. His fingers slid down Dave's arm, tangling their hands together.

Ms. Curel's eyebrows raised as she glanced over at Dave, looking impressed. "You certainly have good stock there, Master Hummel. Its pre-auction evaluation listed it as Highly Qualified in multiple categories."

"That's good?" Master Kurt said, still looking at little lost.

"Yes, Master Hummel," she said dryly. "Very good. Out of the thirteen basic categories, it received a rating of Highly Qualified in nine."

"Really? Wow," Master said. Dave felt a blush coming over his face as Master Kurt looked at him with a new eye. It had been awhile since he'd felt appreciated to this degree. "What categories?"

"Let's see… It scored Highly Qualified in Athletics, Intelligence, Obedience, Performance Arts, Physical Strength, Pleasure Service, Submission to Mounting, Tolerance of Painful Stimuli, and Worship. It received an Average rating in Beauty, Fine Arts, and Genital Proportion. It only scored a Low in one category."

Master Kurt was looking even more impressed. "What was that?"

"Emotional Detachment."

Dave dropped his eyes at the reminder, his blush of pleasure becoming one of embarrassment. He'd know it had been wrong to cry when the nice examiner who'd given him a cookie and sang him songs left the room, but he'd wanted so bad for someone to hold him. It was frustrating that scores he'd received when he wasn't even two years old would stick with him for life. Of course, from the way he was reacting to Master Kurt's decision to trade him in for a better model, Dave guessed that he'd still score a Low in Emotional Detachment. He was good at suppressing feelings for Master's benefit, but the idea of giving up Master entirely—even for Master's pleasure—made him want to cry just like when he was a little boy-slave.

"So do they evaluate every slave in that stuff?" Master Kurt asked, sounding interested.

Ms. Curel nodded. "Yes. Born-slaves are evaluated as children, then again before being put up for open auction after training. Usually a slave would have a second evaluation by this time, but it looks like your grandfather bought it in a closed sale."

"How much did he pay?" Master asked curiously. "Does it say?"

Ms. Curel actually rolled her eyes. "No, Master Hummel. That's why they call it a 'closed' sale."

Dave raised a finger to his lips, then went ahead and spoke, taking the way Master was looking at him with interest as tacit permission to talk. "If you're interested, I know this slave's sale price, Master."

"Yeah? What did you cost, Dave?"

"Seventy-four thousand dollars on a five year payment plan with an interest rate of four percent."

Master's mouth dropped open, eyes getting huge. "Seventy four thousand dollars? You have got to be kidding me!"

Dave ducked his head, burying his chin in his chest as he carefully schooled his features into a polite mask, trying to ignore the way the words cut into him. "I… I am probably no longer worth that, Master," he said, voice quiet, eyes locked on his own knees. "It… was a long time ago, when I was just off the show circuit. An owner's virgin, they call them. A slave who has only belonged to a trainer or training facility, never an individual owner. They are worth more like that. I can see how you'd be surprised to find out how much was paid for me then. You're right… I'm not worth that."

"What? Oh God, Dave, I wasn't saying you aren't worth that!" Master was clearly exasperated, though Dave wasn't sure why. "I can't even begin to consider how much you're worth to me, it's so much. I just didn't realize *any* slaves cost that much."

"Master Trainer Karofsky is *very* well know," Ms. Curel said, looking like she was about to start drooling over Dave. "And this slave won the youth division title at the National Slave Trainer Society's 2001 competition. Youth Pleasure Slave of the Year."

Master frowned, glancing over at Dave. "Weren't you seven then?"

"Yes, Master," he agreed, trying not to sound boastful. "Trainer Karofsky used me to beat trainers whose entries were up to ten years older than I was. Trainer was on the October cover of the Slaver Association's professional journal."

Master was looking at him in that strange way again, cheeks tinged red even through His pale foundation. "I see." His voice was a little choked for some reason, and He squeezed Dave's hand again.

"So, Sam Evans you say?" Ms. Curel's voice was brisk, her fingers tapping on the keyboard. "Ah, here we go… Okay, it's being brought in at five o'clock tomorrow for evaluations since it has a slave scholarship at McKinley High and needs to be there by eight. Its training will begin at three-thirty." She looked up. "Slave Dave may arrive at the same times and accompany it to evaluations and classes. Classes will end by nine o'clock and the foreclosure may either return home or we will assign it a cage. We'll get this boy trained up for you in no time. Sound good, Master Hummel?"

Master glanced over at him, His kind eyes looking at Dave seriously. "You think this will work, right? You're good with this plan?" He couldn't mask the happiness in His voice.

"Yes, Master," Dave said, ducking his head to hide the tears that had suddenly risen from nowhere. He was good with it, he really was. This was perfect, truly perfect. Not only could he keep Mr. Sam relatively safe, he could train him personally on how Master Kurt liked to be served and help him through the more difficult aspects of training. Dave had a feeling from the catastrophe in slave class yesterday that the sexual components were going to be particularly difficult for Mr. Sam and, unfortunately, trainers didn't let you wade into it. You got shoved off the edge the moment you began and it was sink or swim from there. But Dave would help him. This was really an amazing chance. Dave could help make Mr. Sam into the perfect slave for Master Kurt, a win for everyone. It was fantastic, really.

A tear escaped his lashes and Dave used his shoulder to wipe it away as fast as he could, hoping no one had noticed. Stupid feelings, always getting the better of him. He really did deserve that Low score in Emotional Detachment.

Master gave his hand another squeeze, smiling brightly at Ms. Curel. "Okay then. It's a deal. Slave Dave will see you at five."


	17. Ch 17: Pink Elephants

****If you would like to read this on my livejournal instead of the evil ff net, you can find it at****

**** ****pucktheperv +DOT+ livejournal +DOT+ com +SLASH+ tag +SLASH+ bornthisslave********

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**Author's Notes: ** Okay, again with the effing chapter size in Livejournal. Damn my need for writing excessively long chapters! Once again a 10,000 worder got chopped into two pieces (Chapters 16 and 17) but these, at least can stand on their own. So it's two-for-the-price-of-one tonight! :D

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**Chapter 17: Pink Elephants**

Dave was unusually quiet. Not that it was ever really *loud*, it just seemed quieter today than usual. It wasn't even about its unwillingness to speak, since his slave was often silent. It was more the way it was holding its body, so very still, its chest hardly moving as it breathed. There was something off about it, like being in a forest and hearing dead silence when you should hear the rustle of branches in the wind and crickets singing their songs. Dave was sitting like the life had been drained from it, and Kurt wasn't sure why.

Not that Kurt was really up to talking. It felt like there was a hot pink elephant riding in the car with them, except Kurt had suspicions that he was the only one who'd noticed. Had Dave really started pleasure training at two? Even the idea that it had won competitions in pleasure at seven made him feel nauseous.

Kurt had never been to a competition, but he had watched a few on Elite Entertainment Television at his grandparents' estate. Not the youth divisions—those were shown late at night—but the adult pleasure classes. Oral and anal penetration were prominent features in the male category, along with body worship, creative foreplay, submission, and service. The shows they put on were complex and showy, the costumes sometimes bordering on absurd, and the toys so unusual that they were surely custom made. Had Dave really been doing that at seven?

It had never been a secret that Kurt's grandpa had used Dave for sex, and it had only been ten then, but it had always been so matter of fact about mounting, so mature about its services, that Kurt had sort of filed it away in his mind as being all right since Dave hadn't really been a kid like Kurt had.

Except it had been, hadn't it? Kurt remembered that it used to play like any other kid when its duties were over. He remembered that it had spent a lot of time playing with a little boy-slave with scars all over its body, doing little kid things like skipping rocks in the pond and catching fireflies in the evenings and playing hide and seek in the forest.

"Hey, whatever happened to the kid with the scars?" Kurt asked, suddenly curious. Were they still friends? Did they hang out together when Dave went to the estate for Discipline? It was a strange thought, the idea that Dave might have someone outside of its master to spend time with.

"The kid with the scars, Master?" Dave questioned, breaking out of its stillness to look over at Kurt.

"Yeah, the one you played with. At the estate? God, that one was fucked up looking. What did it do to get in so much trouble?"

"Oh, you mean Marcus," Dave said, its voice a little quieter than usual. "He, I mean *it*, didn't get into trouble, Master. It was Master Elijah's dog boy." From the way Dave said it, it was obviously supposed to mean something, but Kurt didn't know what.

"What, he fed the dogs?"

Dave laughed, not a happy sound. "No, Master. When the hunting dogs needed exercise they would wipe Marcus with animal blood, rub its scent on a rag, and set the dogs after it. Most dog boys don't last more than a few months, but Marcus was fast and smart and it was very good at climbing trees. It managed to survive, but it had a lot of scars, Master. The dogs ripped it up on numerous occasions."

"Oh my God," Kurt murmured, feeling even sicker than he had before. That wasn't much better on the stomach than thinking about Dave as a seven year old pleasure slave. "That's terrible."

Dave gave a little shrug, not looking particularly bothered by the idea. Like it was normal to hear of a little boy being ripped apart by rabid beasts at Kurt's own grandfather's request. "That was its job, Master."

"Kind of like pleasure is your job?" The words were out before Kurt could stop them and he blushed slightly as the pink elephant took a shit on his lap, though he was pretty sure that Dave had still failed to notice that there was even an elephant in the room.

"Yes, Master." Again with its 'not bothered in the least' voice.

"So… Ms. Curel said that you started your pleasure training at two." Kurt was amazed at how casually the words rolled off his tongue, considering that they sort of made him want to barf. "But you couldn't have actually started training that young, right?" He paused, hands tightening on the steering wheel as he forced a thousand disgusting images from his brain. "I mean, you couldn't have been mounted that young."

"Hm," Dave mused, not really an affirmation or a denial. "I was not anally penetrated until I was five if that's what you mean, Master."

Oh yes, that totally made him feel better. Kurt's hands gripped the steering wheel even tighter, his manicured nails digging into the leather. "Gee, they waited that late?" Kurt said sarcastically, making a note to Google 'brain bleach' when they got home and see what came up.

Dave shifted in its seat, looking almost offended. "Trainer felt that it might damage me permanently to be taken at that size, Master, but I assure you I received extensive training in my later years. Trainer was very thorough, but he did not want to start me until he knew it was safe."

Kurt grimaced. Trust Dave to miss his sarcasm completely.

"Trainer Karofsky was always looking out for me," it continued, sounding pleased, a smile growing on its face. Kurt wanted to vomit. Preferably on the amazing Trainer Karofsky's face. "Of course I began training immediately in other areas. Oral pleasure, stroking, poses, rimming, kissing, body worship, foot worship, bondage—"

"Okay, okay," Kurt cut in, interrupting the seemingly endless list. He was worried he really *would* puke from all the images flashing through his brain if Dave continued. Kurt wasn't stupid; he knew that pleasure slaves often began training at ages much younger than what your average joe would consider appropriate. But two years old? How the *fuck* could anyone have sex with a two year old? They couldn't even talk in complete sentences and there was already some trainer sticking his dick where it doesn't belong? Slave or not, it was freakishly nasty. No, more than that—it was flat out immoral.

"I have to admit, Dave," Kurt said, keeping his eyes carefully on the road. "That it kind of makes me sad. You shouldn't have gone through all that."

Out of the corner of his eye, Kurt saw the confusion on Dave's face.

"What? Pleasure training? I was happy to be trained, and to be chosen as a pleasure slave is very rewarding. I could have ended up a dog boy or an American gladiator or a medical test subject, Master. Being chosen for pleasure work is a gift, Master. You are pretty much secured a long life of many comforts. A much better living than being chased by dogs or fighting to the death or being shot up with unknown chemicals. Plus it gave me a purpose in life."

A life of comfort, huh? Because being fucked by strangers was so comfortable.

Gripping the steering wheel this hard was starting to hurt. Kurt forced himself to loosen his grip before he sliced the leather open with his nails. "Two year olds aren't meant for mounting, David. Or any sexual act. Not even if they're slaves."

"Why not?" Dave's voice was as openly casual as if he'd asked why it wasn't appropriate to wear khakis to a black tie event.

"What do you mean, why not?" Kurt questioned, looking over at Dave in disbelief. "Two year olds aren't meant for sex, it's that simple! No secondary reason needed. For God's sake, if you've only been potty trained for two months, you're too damn young for sex!"

"Maybe for a freeman," Dave said, looking almost amused. "But I'm a slave, Master Kurt. A pleasure slave. Pleasure is my main service. Why would you waste all that time? Why not start them young?"

"Because they're kids," Kurt said, aware that his voice was getting a little snippy. "Kids, David!"

"But they're not, Master," Dave said, less like it was arguing and more like it was stating a really obvious fact. "If slave kids were the same as free kids, then wouldn't slave adults be the same as freemen? It's not the same thing at all. You're a person. I'm a possession." It shrugged again. "Honestly, I think they start most pleasure slaves too old. They should be started immediately, like I was."

Kurt's adrenaline was up, heart pounding a little too fast. "That is absurd," he said through gritted teeth. "Children are innocent and they deserve to stay innocent. Their bodies aren't meant for sex and, more importantly, their minds aren't developed enough to even understand what's happening to them!"

"Not to argue, Master," Dave said, "but I was very aware of what was happening to me. My trainers were not secretive about what they had planned for me."

Kurt smacked the steering wheel in annoyance. "Kids are totally helpless, though. They can't protect themselves! It's not right to do that to someone who can't protect themselves!"

Dave's brow furrowed. "I can't protect myself, Master. What does that have to do with mountings?"

Whatever pithy statement Kurt had been about to make regarding the sanctity of children fell off his tongue as Dave's words slammed into his mind, sending him reeling from a punch he knew Dave hadn't even meant to send his way.

No, no, no. That wasn't what Kurt had meant. He'd meant that *children* couldn't protect themselves. That had nothing to do with grown slaves. It was wrong with children, not with slaves. …Except the children sometimes *were* slaves. And then it was wrong. Because they were children and children were helpless. But so were slaves…

"That's not the same," Kurt protested weakly, the sickness he'd been carrying in his gut since Ms. Curel had spoken the words 'two years old' suddenly turning into a heavy mass of writhing guilt. "That… It's not the same."

"Why not?" Dave questioned, the look on its face making it clear that it still had no idea that this was anything more than idle conversation. "A child-slave is still a slave. It's only as helpless as any slave. Why should it get special treatment?"

'Because it's a child. Because… because it's just not the same. It's just not the same!" His breath caught and, even as Kurt said it, he knew it was a lie. It was a lie. It was a motherfucking lie. All this time, all these years, an enormous fucking lie. And if was a lie, then what did that make him?

Oh, God.

Kurt yanked the wheel suddenly, and Dave cried out as they peeled toward the side of the road, tires screeching. Kurt slammed on the break, throwing them both into their seatbelts, then killed the engine, slapping the button for the emergency lights.

With shaky hands he managed to get his seat belt off, turning in his seat so that he could look Dave right in the face.

His slave looked frightened, eyes huge and bright, and its voice was shaking as it spoke. "M-Master? Master, have I displeased you?"

Had Dave displeased him? Was Kurt displeased that, all these years, his slave had fed the lie, allowed its Matser to—oh God he didn't want to think the words—allowed him to *rape* it… rape him… it… him… it? Displeased that it had taken every fuck with a smile when, deep down, it had probably hated him? If Kurt had been in Dave's place, he would have hated him. In fact, Kurt was pretty sure he hated himself.

"No, Dave," Kurt said hoarsely, blinking back tears. "You haven't displeased me."

"Wh-what's wrong then, Master?" Dave asked, reaching out to touch Kurt's cheek. Kurt flinched, pushing the hand away. His dad had been right all along. It was wrong. This whole thing was wrong. Dave was helpless under Kurt, it had no way to protect itself. And Kurt had taken advantage of that. Over and over and over again.

"I raped you." Kurt's head was light, his breath coming too fast, and the words seemed to be written in big, black letters before him. RAPIST. SICK FUCKING RAPIST. "I raped you and raped you and raped you and raped—"

"No, Master!" Dave's voice was strong, stronger than Kurt thought he'd ever heard it. He looked up and Dave's teeth were bared like a dog's, its eyebrows tight, an angry look on its face. "I look forward to my punishment for correcting you, Master." The words sounded more like a threat than a promise. "But you have never raped me, Master. Never! I am your slave—"

"Exactly!" Kurt practically shouted, bringing his hands up to cover his face, peeking through his fingers at Dave as his shoulders starting to shake. Still the words wouldn't go away. RAPIST. SICK FUCKING RAPIST. "You're my slave! It's my duty to take care of you! That's my job, as your owner! And instead I forced you into the most intimate act—"

"Forced me? FORCED ME?" Dave pulled off its seatbelt, turning its upper body and yanking Kurt's hands from his face. "Master, not to be rude, but how the *hell* do you think you could force me?"

Big arms reached out, totally unexpected, and Kurt let out a cry as Dave made use of its well defined muscles to lift Kurt out of his seat like he weighed nothing, dragging him into its lap. Fear washed over Kurt as that strong grip closed around him, trapping his arms to his side, and he let out a small whimper, wondering if this was karma coming back to him.

"Tell me, Master," Dave almost hissed, shoving its face against Kurt's ear. "Tell me how you could force me, Master. I'm twice your size! Don't you think I could break you over my knee if I wanted?" The body part in question moved, jamming between Kurt's thighs. "Don't you think I could pick you up and throw you across the room? Don't you *dare* call yourself a rapist, Master Kurt! Don't you dare do that to yourself! You're a kind, good, loving Master…" Dave's voice cracked and Kurt realized it was crying. "And you feel so much, for everyone. You're so sensitive and you care more than anybody I've ever served. But please, please, please don't hurt yourself like this. Don't let your loving heart twist this into something it's not. Don't you understand how much I love you, Master? You are my whole world, Sir, and if you think for a second I would want anything else, then you've gone mad."

Dave's head dropped down to rest on Kurt's shoulder, its grip relaxing enough for Kurt to wiggle a shaking hand free, placing it on his slave's head, as much for his comfort as Dave's. "Dave… It's not about how big you are. Of course you could tear me apart, if you were free. But you're not free. This… It's about who has the power."

Dave's chest rose as it took a deep breath, its head lifting up enough to look Kurt in the eye. "Master, I serve you because I want to. I-I'm not saying that I wouldn't be a good, loyal slave to any master, but you… Being yours makes me happy, Master. I love being yours."

A tear ran down Kurt's cheek. "Only because you're supposed to, Dave," the words were surprisingly difficult to choke out. He'd always known that Dave loved him because it was his slave. That was what made it so dependable, so safe. But, for some reason, it hurt to say that out loud. "You only love me because my family paid for you."

A tiny, bitter laugh came from Dave. "Oh, Master, I cannot imagine the punishment I deserve for today. Some masters would have me killed for touching them like this, and it's probably what I deserve. But I don't regret any of my actions, shameful as they've been, because you need to understand. Slaves don't have a lot of choices, Master, but we're not completely powerless. We still control how we feel, Master. I can't stop any freeman from using my body, but I can decide if I enjoy it or not."

Its big fingers began to stoke Kurt's chest and he swallowed deeply, trying to ignore the way his cock twitched at the touch.

"I don't really believe a slave can be raped, Master." It held up a finger when Kurt opened his mouth to… what, protest? Until a few moments ago he hadn't thought slaves could be raped, either. "Please, Master, let me speak. I will gladly accept the punishment for it later, but please, please, Sir, allow me to speak now."

Kurt nodded slowly, mouth feeling dry and cottony. "Okay," he whispered, trying to ignore the little voice in his head still crying 'rapist, sick fucking rapist' over and over again. "Go ahead, Dave. I… You won't be punished for whatever you say, pet." His voice cracked on the last word, all the feelings of love and happiness he associated with the nickname making his chest ache.

"Like I said, I don't believe a slave can be raped, but I do understand the concept and, for the purpose of this talk, let's say that a slave *can* be raped."

Which could only lead to RAPIST. SICK FUCKING RAPIST. Another tear ran down Kurt's cheek.

"I've been raped, Master Kurt." The hand on Kurt's chest continued to rub gently. "I've been raped so many times, Master. In front of everyone at elite parties and in the stables at the estate. In the back of a stranger's pickup and in the middle of the street on an autumn day. I live every day with the knowledge that anytime, anywhere a freeman could decide to use me. That if I don't have a freeman by my side to protect, there is nothing I can do to save me from the pain and the shame. Because it is painful, and it is shameful, and it hurts so, so bad every time. I feel dirty and useless and unworthy to go home to Master."

Kurt's hands were still shaking badly, tears making trails down his cheeks as his slave's words cut deep into his heart. The pain in its voice was so intense, like it was looking back on those days and feeling every touch, every thrust right then. As though those men were in the car with them right now.

But they were in the car with them right now, weren't they? Or one of them, at least. Kurt was here. And Kurt was one of them. He let out a sob and Dave tugged him tighter against its chest. The metal of Dave's chastity device dug into Kurt's butt cheek as he shifted so that he could wrap an arm around Dave's shoulder, burying his face against his slave like a little kid. There was a gentle tug at his hair and he forced himself to look up, meeting Dave's eyes. It deserved that much, at least.

"Yes, I have been raped many times. But I can tell you, Master, with no hesitation, that you have never, ever raped me, Sir. I have always, every single time, wanted you inside me." It sniffled, reaching up to wipe its eyes on the back of its hand. "I… I can't tell you that I could have or would have refused you if I *hadn't* wanted it. That would be a lie, Master, and you know that. I never stopped any other freemen from using me, even those I could have taken out with a shove. I just stood there limply, as I was taught, not fighting or helping. But you need to understand, Master, that the freedom to *want* a mounting is one of the few freedoms a slave has.

"We are trained to suppress pain, sadness, anger… Anything that might get in the way of serving as we should. But we're allowed to express enjoyment, Sir. I enjoy everything about you, Master. I enjoy how you smile, how you talk, how you eat, and how you sleep. And I enjoy it when I take you in my mouth or you press into me. It makes me… happy. It's not just my loyalty as a slave, Master. I didn't feel this way even for Trainer Karofsky, though I loved him very much. It's you. You're such a beautiful person, and the thought of you feeling guilty for something that I wanted just as badly as you did, if not more… I would rather die than have you feel like that, Sir."

Kurt forced himself not to flinch as Dave reached out, methodically wiping each tear from its master's face with its thumb. Was it possible? Was Dave telling the truth? Had it wanted Kurt all these years, or was it simply giving its master the answer it thought he wanted? Kurt didn't know, didn't understand. In fact, he didn't understand anything about his slave at all.

A few days ago Kurt wasn't sure if he'd have *cared* that he didn't understand anything about his slave or not. But something had happened between them, something Kurt couldn't define, and he wanted now, more than anything, to understand what went on behind those big, brown eyes. There was so much more than he'd ever imagined. And, oh, he wanted to believe it when Dave said that it wanted him, that its Master had done no wrong, but he couldn't accept the things it said as truth anymore, not after getting a glimpse of the intense feelings he hadn't even known his slave *had.*

"David…" Kurt said breathily, looking up into those soulful brown eyes. "I just… I don't know if I can accept that. I feel… I feel like an idiot. How could I be so blind? I think… I think maybe it was because I wanted to be. I don't see how taking you into my bedroom and making you suck my dick is any better than some elite asshole jumping you at a party. Whatever you say… I can't believe you can enjoy that. You said yourself, you would never refuse me."

His slave leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together, a desperate look in its eyes. "What can I do to convince you that I want to serve you, Master?" It said, on the edge of begging. "Please, tell this slave what it can do to prove itself to you." Thick fingers tightened on Kurt's arms, and his breath quickened.

What could Dave do to prove it? Kurt didn't know, but he wished he did. Because if he did, maybe it would make those big, black words stop growing in his mind. RAPIST. SICK FUCKING RAPIST. They were like a cancer on his soul, and Kurt didn't know how to fight it. He had used Dave. He had. But he couldn't quite give up on the small sliver of hope that Dave was speaking the truth. That all those times had been what they both wanted, not rape playing dress up, hiding itself in Prada dresses and Jimmy Choo heels. But how could he ever know? How could he ever understand?

"Show me," Kurt said suddenly, squaring his jaw as he gazed at Dave. "Show me that you enjoy it."

Dave's brow furrowed. "You mean that you want to mount me, Master?" Kurt wondered if there was really a hopeful tinge to the words or if it was his desperate soul grasping at straws.

"No," he said, shaking his head vigorously. "No. I want *you* to mount *me.*"

"E-excuse me, M-Master?" Dave stuttered out, looking shocked. "I don't understand."

Kurt took a deep, steadying breath. "You heard me. I want you to mount me." Chastity device catastrophe aside, Kurt had to know. It was more than just whether or not he'd be able to mount his slave in the future without puking his guts up afterward when he thought about what he'd done. He needed to know, needed to *really* understand. Nothing else would be able to wipe away the big, black words.

"I… don't understand how that is possible, Master," Dave said slowly. "Or how doing so will prove anything about my loyalty, Master." It looked stressed and Kurt reached out, running a hand across its face.

"Listen, pet," he said, putting as much affection as he could muster into the nickname. "I… I need to understand what it's like. When I try to put myself in your place in my mind…" The tears were back, running down his cheeks. "I don't see how you could want it, ever. All I see is… is someone who is too busy worrying about themselves to even notice that they were hurting you, the thing they were supposed to be protecting. I know I'll never be able to truly understand, but I want you to walk me through how you feel. We'll lay down together and you can explain to me, step by step, how you feel." He took a deep breath. "And I mean how you really feel, David. Even if that feeling is something you think I won't like or understand."

"I… What do you mean by that, Master?" Dave was looking a little ill.

Kurt shrugged. "Like with the harness. You admitted you were embarrassed, then said you were glad to be embarrassed because it was humbling and a humble slave is a good slave and you want to be a good slave. I don't get that. I don't get it at all. To me bad feelings are bad feelings. But you must not feel the same, not if you want to keep that horrible chastity device on. I don't know if that's wrong or right, but I know that's how you feel. I want to understand *you,* Dave," Kurt said vehemently. "Not the Dave you're supposed to show the world, not the Dave you think I or Miss Mercedes or Trainer Karofsky or anyone else would want to see. I want to know how *you* think, puppy. How you really, truly think, even if it's something a freeman might see as messed up or disobedient or just plain weird. You won't be punished for anything you say, because I *want* to know."

Dave's face looked contorted, like it was trying to make several different expressions at once. "I… I don't understand how this will help prove that I want you, Master."

"David," Kurt said softly, "I can't believe you want me if I don't even know who you are. I want you to show me who you are." He leaned forward, laying a soft kiss on his slave's lips. "Show me who you are."


	18. Ch 18: Master Cellophane

****If you would like to read this on my livejournal instead of the evil ff net, you can find it at****

**** ****pucktheperv +DOT+ livejournal +DOT+ com +SLASH+ tag +SLASH+ bornthisslave********

o o o****  
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**Author's Notes: ** I had kind of a difficult time writing this chapter, so let me know what you think! I think the ending will please people anyway. :D

o o o

**Chapter 18: Master Cellophane**

Kurt blinked, looking around in confusion. What the hell had happened to his room? His bed, his dresser, his desk, even his shoes—oh, God, his shoes!—were all gone. His beautiful armoire was had vanished, replaced by a plain looking cabinet with crude bumper stickers stuck all over it. There was a basketball sitting on the desk, and a baseball bat leaning against the bed. His fluffy pink comforter had been replaced by a blue plaid monstrosity, and the curtains seemed to have disappeared all together. What was going on here?

"Hey, Kurt, what the fuck's wrong with you?" Dave was staring at him, a smirk on its face. Kurt's brow furrowed at the words. Since when did his slave talk to him like that? And why the hell was he sitting on the bed wearing muddy sneakers?

"Dave?"

His slave's eyebrows shot up, a surprised look coming over its face. "Whoa… Did you just call me…? Huh… Are you feeling okay, Kurt?" It leaned forward a little, frowning. "You look kinda pale." It laughed. "Of course you're always pale as hell, like a freaking vampire. Just my luck that I ended up with a slave who turns into a tomato in the sun."

Kurt sucked in a sharp breath, heart skipping a beat. Had Dave just called him a slave? And then insulted his complexion? Kurt wasn't sure which was worse. Why in the world would Dave call him a slave?

Kurt shivered slightly, the airconditioning cool on his bare chest. Wait… His bare chest? Kurt looked down, eyes widening at what he saw. He was wearing slave shorts—and only slave shorts. What the hell was going on here?!

"You gotta admit, a man with a tan is fine," Dave continued, apparently ignorant of the fact that Kurt was about to have a seizure. "Shit, have you seen Sam Evans lately? He definitely goes to a tanning salon, whatever he says, 'cause he don't got no tan lines!" A wicked grin spread across its face and it wagged its eyebrows at Kurt. It was rather disturbing. "I *checked*. God bless locker rooms and the naked boys galore." It—no, he, because this Dave was definitely a 'he'—gestured for Kurt to come to him. "C'mere, kitten."

Kitten?

Kurt took a shaky step forward, then another and another, like someone else was directing his body. He should be turning on his heel and running away as fast as he could, not wandering toward some punk version of Dave like he was a puppet on a string. Was this some kind of joke? He couldn't even imagine how anyone could pull off a joke like this. A sick feeling washed over him. Was this some sort of karma, come early to make the SICK FUCKING RAPIST pay? The idea flooded him with panic, as absurd as it seemed. What was going on here?

Somehow he made it to the edge of the bed without collapsing into a heap of terror. Kurt jumped a little as Dave reached out suddenly to grab his ass, then kneaded it with his big hand. Kurt wanted to protest, to slap the bastard's hand away and tell him to mind his business, but he couldn't. He didn't know why he couldn't, but he couldn't. It was like some part of his brain was keeping him locked in place.

"Aw, kitty, you're such a sweetheart. Come sit on my lap."

"Yes, Master." Kurt started slightly as he heard the words come out of his mouth. Why the hell had he just called Dave 'Master'? And, more importantly, why did it feel so *right*, like it was the natural thing to do? No, more than that… Like it was the *only* thing to do. Like Dave *was* Master, a different name for the same boy, the only name Kurt was worthy to say.

Kurt licked his lips nervously as he climbed on the bed, settling himself awkwardly in Dave's lap. Puppet or no puppet, he didn't have Dave's gracefulness. Apparently he wasn't winning any show titles anytime soon.

Kurt flinched a little as he felt Dave's erection twitch against his buttocks, but then he immediately pressed himself into it, wiggling his butt like he was trying to make it grow.

What the fuck was he doing?

Suddenly Dave's hands were on him, one hand roughly stroking the inside of Kurt's left thigh while the other rubbed his stomach then trailed up to wrap lightly around his neck, squeezing gently. It would have been a relief when the hand moved from his neck upward if it hadn't felt so weird to have someone run their palm over his face. Kurt could feel his cheeks burning.

Dave had stroked Kurt many times, but it had never felt like this. There was a detachment to the way he was being touched, like Kurt was body parts instead of a person. It was obvious that Dave didn't care if his touches made Kurt uncomfortable. It was actually worse than being felt up in a club because it wasn't just rude touching, it was as if it hadn't even occurred to Dave to consider that Kurt might have an opinion when it came to the matter. It was as if he was just a thing. Overall? It was fucking humiliating.

Oh, God. Dave's cock was definitely hard against Kurt's ass now.

"Mmm, that's my girl," Dave murmured, now back to rubbing Kurt's stomach. "You know, that elite asswipe Richie Radice was getting down on you again the other day, but I told the son of a bitch, I said 'man, it may look like an pizza faced pedophile's dream, but it can suck a dick like a pro.'" Dave smiled down at him like he'd just read him a love sonnet, the look on his face making it obvious that he expected this to please Kurt.

"Thank you, Master." The words spilled out before Kurt could stop them, making him want to vomit. Why had he said that? He should be spitting fire that Dave would talk to someone like Kurt was just some *thing*.

Except… If he was Dave's slave… That's all he was, wasn't? If this was karma, the universe taking him down a notch, that's all he would ever be, wasn't it? A thing for Dave to paw at, a thing to worship at his oversized feet. Not even a person.

Kurt's eyes began to sting, but the tears refused to fall. In fact, a grateful smile had formed on his face.

Dave dropped his hands from Kurt's stomach to the waistband of his shorts, big fingers prying them down. Kurt's heart jumped, adrenaline rushing through him as he saw the chastity device wrapped around his cock and balls. No. No, no, no, no, no. This was not happening. It couldn't be. This was not possible.

"Okay, baby girl, pull it out for Daddy. I wanna see it in your mouth, okay, kitten?" Dave's voice was gentle, his smile kind, and if you hadn't heard the words, you would have thought it was sweet talk.

Kurt felt his lips turn up in a smile again, though what he really wanted to do was slap Dave across the face and tell the bastard what he thought of his perverted pet names. "Yes, Master."

Kurt's hands reached for Dave's jeans, definitely not of their own volition considering that at this point he'd rather cut them off than handle Dave's dick. He unbuttoned them then slowly tugged down the zipper. Dave lifted his hips enough for Kurt to pull down his pants and boxers to his knees, then his hard cock was in Kurt's face.

Kurt just sat there, staring at it with wide eyes, feeling like he was about to throw up. He couldn't do this. He didn't even know how. He'd never done this before. His first time couldn't be like this. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. It felt like… like… like rape.

SICK FUCKING RAPIST

Oh, God.

Dave made a sound of annoyance, reaching down and using his finger and thumb to press on either side of Kurt's jaw, forcing his mouth open.

Anger shot through Kurt as Dave literally forced his head down on his cock, slipping the tip between Kurt's lips. Kurt rolled his eyes up to glare at Dave, expecting the boy to be smirking down at him or something, but was surprised to see that he was just sitting there looking down at Kurt with soft, caring eyes and a lopsided smile on his face. Didn't he realize how rude it was to shove someone's head down on your dick? You had to give a guy some time to prepare, for God's sake! Kurt would never force someone's mouth open and—

His breath caught as he was flooded with the memory of himself sitting on the bed with Dave between his legs, casually using his hand to force his slave's mouth open. Oh, God, had he really done that? He had, hadn't he? Oh, God, he had. But he hadn't meant to hurt his slave, he just hadn't thought it would care…

Kurt rolled his eyes back up and Dave smiled kindly down at him. He hadn't thought it would care, just like this Dave didn't think Kurt would care.

"Come on, girl, time to take it now. That's my good girl. Time to take it for Master."

Did he really talk down to Dave like that, like his slave was some stupid animal that he had to help along, step by step?

Kurt felt a tugging sensation as Dave buried his hand in his hair, then suddenly he was gagging as his head was forced down so far that Kurt's nose was buried in Dave's pubes. Over and over he had to swallow back down the bile that kept rising, making his throat burn badly and his eyes water.

Dave ran a hand though Kurt's hair, like he was petting a fucking dog. "There we go. Aw, you're such a good girl, you know that? You ready, kitty?"

Kurt had never really considered how hard it was to say 'yes, Master' with a mouth full of penis. It came out more like 'eees aher', though he wasn't really even sure what Dave was asking—

Whoa! Kurt choked as he was pulled up by his hair then slammed back down again on Dave's dick, the violent movement shoving it as far down his throat as it could go. Once again he was swallowing back bile, or swallowing it as best he could with cock in his mouth, anyway.

Dave began to thrust his hips as well, meeting Kurt half way as he flat out fucked his face. It went for what seemed like forever, though it was probably only a few minutes. Tears stung Kurt's eyes again, but he wasn't sure if they were a result of the way he was choking or the humiliation of the whole thing.

Finally, Dave came in Kurt's throat, something else for him to choke down, then the boy collapsed back on the bed with a satisfied sigh. Kurt just lay there, dick still in his mouth, until Dave finally reached out and began to pet him, running his fat fingers through Kurt's tousled hair.

"Aw, kitty," Dave breathed, "You're such a good girl."

o o o

Kurt sat up with a gasp, flinging his arms out wildly as he looked frantically around the room, trying to make sense of things. A tear of relief ran down his face as he noted the pink curtains in the windows and the fashionable heels lined up against the wall.

"Master, are you okay?"

Kurt jerked at the voice, almost falling off the bed as Dave sat up, blinking at him sleepily. He hadn't even noticed it there beside him, though where else would it be but by its master's side, forever loyal, even during naptime?

_"That elite asswipe Richie Radice was babbling about you the other day, but I told the troglodyte, 'it may look like an ogre with body odor issues, but it can suck dick like a goddess.' "_

"I… I'm not a thing," Kurt said, covering his face with his hands, the horrible dream still fresh in his mind. Except it wasn't really a dream, was it? "I-I don't want to be a thing… I don't want to…" He trained off as big arms wrapped around him, pulling him tight.

_"Okay, pet, pull it out for Momma. I wanna see it in your mouth, okay, puppy?"_

"Master, calm down," Dave whispered in his ear. "It was only a dream. You're fine. It was only a dream."

Oh, how Kurt wished.

_"Come on, pet. Time to take it now. That's my good boy. Take it for Master."_

"Not a dream," he choked out. "A memory." Another tear ran down his cheek. "I'm a person. I'm not a slave. I don't want to…"

Dave's brow furrowed, an annoyed look coming over its face. "Dammit, Master, feel free to punish me for saying so, but I told you that this crap about you pretending to be me was a bad idea. We haven't even figured out how to make it work and you're having bad dreams?" It shook his head, then kissed the top of Kurt's head. "Don't worry, Master, I'm here to serve you. I'll protect you."

It would protect Kurt? Well, who was going to protect *it*? It wasn't even safe here in its own home, not with Kurt there.

"I want to do it now."

Dave started. "What?"

"I want to do it now, Dave. I want you to mount me now."

His slave let out a sigh. "Master, it's the middle of the day. Master Burt is going to be home in a few hours and find out we skipped school. I doubt walking in on *that* will make him any happier with us. On top of that, we haven't even figured *out* a way for you to do… whatever it is you want to do. How does a free man pretend to be a slave and a slave pretend to be a free man?" From the way Dave said the words you would have thought it was asking about the key to the universe. "I thought that we had agreed, I mean, that you had decided, we would talk more about it later."

Kurt sniffled at the amazingly vivid memory of Dave's cock being shoved down his throat. SICK FUCKING RAPIST.

"No, we got to do it now. I have to understand, Dave," Kurt knew he sounded desperate, but he didn't care. He couldn't take another dream like that. And, oh God, there were so many dreams like that to be had, weren't there? It wasn't as if he was short on memories.

"Master, what brought this on? What did you dream about? You said it was a memory?"

Kurt swallowed hard. "Do you remember a couple of weeks ago when I saw Richie Radice at the tennis club?"

Dave's eyes glinted in amusement and it gave a short laugh. "Yes, Master. You told him that I suck dick like a goddess."

Trust Dave to remember that. Kurt sniffled. "You remember what happened afterward?"

His slave's lips quirked up into a grin. "I believe we worked to prove your theory, Master." It raised an eyebrow. "But I have a hard time imagining that as a nightmare."

Kurt rubbed at his face tiredly. "It was that day, except you were me and I was you."

Dave blinked, still looking vaguely amused. "I had glitter in my hair, Master?"

"No, silly," Kurt said, slapping its arm lightly. "I mean, I was a slave and you were my master and…" He shuddered at the memory. "Y-you called me y-your 'girl' and you touched me and I didn't want to and then your put your dick in my—" Kurt cut off abruptly, shaking his head to clear it. "You're not my pet, Dave. I shouldn't call you that."

"Okay, wait, hold up, Master," Dave said, its voice low. "I like it when you call me 'pet', Sir. It makes me happy."

"It's degrading," Kurt said, leaning into Dave's chest. "That's all I ever do, degrade you."

Dave frowned deeply. "Master, not that a slave has any right to claim this, but that's not exactly fair. I take it that this master-me," Dave winced visibly at the words, "called you pet—"

"Girl."

"Called you girl and it made you feel bad?"

Kurt nodded, eyes filling up with tears. "I'm sorry, David."

Dave sighed, and Kurt could definitely hear irritation there. "Master, do you call me 'pet' because you think I'm a dog or a gerbil or a parakeet or whatever?"

Kurt choked at the idea, letting out a little laugh. "What? No."

"Do you call me 'pet' because you're a sadist who likes to make little girls cry and push old ladies down stairs and generally act like Coach Sylvester?"

Again Kurt couldn't help but laugh. "No."

"So why do you call me 'pet,' Master?" Dave questioned.

Kurt's brow furrowed. "I dunno… Because… Because it's just what I call you?"

"Exactly," Dave said, like Kurt had just solved a thousand year old cold case. "It's called a pet name, Master. Sweetheart. Baby. Darling. Honey. Maybe I am literally your pet, but you don't call me 'pet' because you want to grind that into everybody's head every single second. You could call me dickwad if you wanted and I would have to answer, but I have never even once seen you calling me 'pet' as anything but a term of affection, Master." It shrugged. "And if I'm wrong, if this whole time it's been you trying to stab me in the heart or whatever and now you feel bad, then stop saying it. But somehow, Master, I don't think that's what it is." It paused. "Am I wrong, Master."

"No," Kurt admitted slowly. "But it felt… I don't know. Embarrassing. Humiliating. Something."

Dave sighed again. "What you described to me? It was a dream, Master, not a memory. Because you don't *have* that memory. It's *my* memory. And what I remember is being amused as hell that you told off that little shit Richie Radice or, as he is known *only* amongst slaves and *please* don't tell anyone I told you this, Bitchy Fatass. When he and his father last visited the estate, the house slaves all put their names in a jar every morning and the one they drew had to handle the little whiner. He has no problem spending three hours complaining about how his sheets were folded or barging into the kitchen as dinner is being prepared to scream about how the toilet paper should be hung with the sheets going *over*, not *under* the roll."

Kurt let out a laugh. "Are you serious?"

"Oh yes, Master, I am as serious as a whipping post. Angelina, one of the kitchen slaves, told me. Said his face got all red like a tomato and she honestly thought his head was going to explode." Dave gave him a smile. "But back to that day… After that, I remember having quite a good time sucking your cock, Master. You were pretty wily. It was fun."

Kurt's good humor faded as quickly as it had come. "Wily?" he said, guilt washing over him. "Demeaning is more like it. I just shoved in like I didn't even care. I can't imagine how that made you feel, Dave."

"Obviously not, Master," the slave responded, shaking its head, and Kurt got the distinct feeling that it wanted to roll its eyes. "Look, Sir," it said, ruffling Kurt's bangs, "you say that you want to understand me, right? I mean, I'm still not sure what you understand, but you want to do some sort of… what did you call it?"

"Method acting," Kurt said quietly.

"Right. You want to Method act or whatever and get inside my head. But if you want to do that, Master, you have to accept that while I do have feelings, they're not the same feelings you have, not always. The things that bother you so much, Master, they make me happy. I don't care that I wear a chastity device, Master, because I'm not looking to get off. I'm looking to bring you pleasure. That brings *me* pleasure. I like it when you call me pet or puppy and then pet me like a puppy, okay? For God's sake, Master, you're a 5'8" boy who wears lipgloss and sequins, not a seventy year old man who sits in his study wearing a smoking jacket with no pants and keeping me on a leash beside him. It's *cute*, Master. I *like* it. It doesn't make me feel like a dog, it makes smile, and it makes me feel like you care."

"I do care," Kurt said quietly.

Dave shrugged. "And that's my point, Master. I don't know why you've suddenly got it in your head that you're some giant monster or whatever because you took what I was yours instead of, I don't know, doing a whole bunch of soul searching and working with a sex therapist before mounting me or something. But if you really want to know what bothers me, I will tell you, here and now, Master."

Kurt swallowed hard, staring up at Dave with wide eyes. "I do want to know."

"Okay," Dave replied, looking steadily into Kurt's eyes. "Master, what bothers me is when you act as though the things I love to do for you are bad, meaning that I must love bad things. It bothers me when your friends act as if the stuff I do for you isn't important and that you would be a better, more upstanding person without me there to tempt you back down the path of evil or whatever. And most of all, it bothers me that you really seem to believe that I would still be your personal slave after *six* years if I was unhappy with my role."

"But Dave," Kurt protested despite the incredible urge to take the easy road and just accept those words at face value, "you're a slave. You don't have any say over whether you stay or go."

Dave actually laughed at that, shaking its head. "Maybe if I was a kitchen slave or a stable lad. Master, do you really think that personal slaves who don't enjoy serving their masters stay with them long? It doesn't matter how obedient and well-trained you are, if you aren't compatible with your master, if what you are capable of and what he wants don't mesh, then it won't last." He paused, reaching up to scratch his head looking off to the side like he was thinking about something. "Do you know Master Clements? Senior, I mean?"

Kurt frowned, not sure where this was going. "Uh, I think so. Older man, always wears a suit and tie no matter where he goes?"

"Yeah, that's him. I'm not really supposed to gossip about other masters, Sir, but Master Clements is known for being a total sadist. And I don't mean he's a jerk or he's strict or he's a big believer in making good use of the whipping posts. I mean that he enjoys buying slaves and hurting them for pleasure."

Kurt grimaced. "Wow, seriously?"

Dave nodded. "He's been through a lot of slaves, Master, but the personal slave he has now has been with him for almost nine years, since it was maybe nine or ten. And it… It's gorgeous. Waist length blonde curls, blue eyes, thin and small, no more than 5'5", under a hundred pounds. Its name is Angel, and it looks like one. A tiny angel. It's also the meanest, cruelest, most twisted thing I've ever met.

"They say that it was literally *returned* to the auction house four times, and that the house started requiring that a bidder spend at least an hour with it before bidding on it. It was like an animal, and nothing anyone did to it mattered. No one could control it but, because it was beautiful, people kept buying it. Back then Master Clements went through personal slaves pretty fast because they could never handle the level of pain he wanted them to take. But then he found Angel. He bought it, hauled it off in chains and, three weeks later, had a perfect slave by his side. Other masters were amazed that he had managed to 'tame the beast!'" Dave shook his head. "But all the slaves knew it was only because Angel wanted to be tamed. Angel likes pain, Angel likes humiliation, and Angel likes men who are strong enough to control it. In other words, Angel likes Master Clements. And Master Clements likes Angel."

"Good God," Kurt said, grimacing. "That's… kind of scary."

"Angel's kind of scary, Master," Dave said with a shrug. "But my point is… If a personal slave isn't happy with its duties, it shows. You have to make a match. Master Clements and Angel are an extreme example, but if a master and its slave aren't a match, if they aren't right for each other, you can feel it in the air, like when two people are angry at one another but neither is willing to say it. The vibe is wrong and the personal slave is sold to someone else." Dave took a deep breath, a look Kurt couldn't quite read coming over its face, and when it spoke, its voice caught a little. "I will help you however I can in whatever… situation you want to put together, especially if it will make you understand that you haven't hurt anyone, Master. But please, please understand this one thing, Sir. I've served you faithfully for six years, Master Kurt, and there is no where else I want to be."

o o o

His ear itched. Kurt lifted a hand to scratch it, only to have his wrist trapped by Dave's hand.

"Uh-uh," Dave whispered, its breath on Kurt's ear intensifying the itch. "No moving, Sir, remember?"

"I wasn't moving," Kurt protested as he stared up at his slave. "I was scratching my ear."

A small smile formed on Dave's lips. "Scratching your ear *is* moving, Sir," it said gently. "Turning your head is moving, clenching your hands is moving, stretching your foot is moving. We do not move from a position Master has placed us in." It gave Kurt's wrist a gentle squeeze before releasing it. "Now you need to relax for Master, Sir. Let yourself become loose and heavy, allowing your control to slip away. Let the memory of being able to move dim, mind and body separating."

God, it was like kinky yoga.

Seriously, Dave wanted him to relax? How was he supposed to relax? He was lying butt naked on a bed, and he couldn't even move to scratch his ear, which seemed to itch more and more every second. Kurt took a deep breath, trying to follow Dave's instructions, letting his body relax and grow heavy, but it was difficult to do with his stomach rolling and his mind whirling. Oh, and he really, really wanted to scratch his damn ear, too.

Maybe this hadn't been a great idea, this switching of roles things. Maybe he *should* just take Dave's word as face value and avoid this mess completely. No, he wasn't going there. He wanted to understand.

It hadn't been easy to come up with a way that would put Kurt in a position to even begin to understand how Dave thought, but they'd finally decided that Dave would walk Kurt through a scenario where Kurt was the slave to a pretend 'Master'. It wasn't exactly the dramatically life altering scene Kurt had imagined, but it was the best they could come up with short of giving Kurt some sleeping pills and letting him spend ten hours living out a nightmare version of every mounting he'd ever been part of.

They'd agreed that Dave would call Kurt 'Sir' to differentiate from their imaginary 'Master' figure since the slave refused to call Kurt, well, *Kurt*, and that if either of them decided they couldn't handle it any more then they would stop. Of course, that clause right there was pretty much the opposite of actually stepping into Dave's slave shorts, so Kurt was determined *not* to call stop, no matter how he felt. After all, slaves didn't get safewords, so why should he?

"What's wrong, Master?" Dave questioned, though Kurt had been sure he'd been pulling a perfect poker face. His slave always could decipher his moods like no one else.

"My ear still itches," Kurt said, not adding the fact that his stomach was churning faster than an automated butter maker.

A sad look came over Dave's face, and you would have thought Kurt had just told it that he'd lost a leg in a car accident or something. Talk about over-empathizing. "I'm sorry, Sir. But you can't scratch it. Usually it would be okay, but because Master has posed this body, you can't move. But I've found that if you ignore itching, it will pass, Sir."

This was fucking crazy. All that their pretend 'Master' (also known as a nervous sounding Dave who kept looking to Kurt for confirmation) had said was for him to lay on his back on the bed and be still while 'Master' got himself ready, whatever that meant. Heaven forbid that this so-called Master wait until he was ready to tell Kurt to lie down. What a jerk.

"Doesn't this bother you, Dave?" Kurt questioned, trying to ignore a sudden urge to pop his fingers. Who would have thought it would take this much effort *not* to move? "Not being allowed to move your own body?"

"It's not my body, Sir. Or not your body, I guess. Not the slave's body. It's Master's body."

Right, because Master didn't already have a body of his own. What was he, Voldemort? Gonna live on the back of Kurt's head?

"You know that even if I told you not to move, I wouldn't care if you scratched your ear, Dave."

Dave shrugged. "Maybe not, but I still wouldn't scratch it. That's moving and you said not to move, Sir. I like to obey. I do exactly what I'm told. That's part of why I won so many titles. Cheap, poorly trained slaves might disobey in tiny ways to make themselves more comfortable, but the best slaves are only worried about their Masters, so they follow orders perfectly."

Based on that definition, Kurt had a sneaking suspicion that he would have cost about a dollar at open auction. Or he might have actually had to pay someone to buy him. Following orders was really not his thing. In fact, following any kind of societal norm was not his thing. But with that horrible dream still fresh in his mind, he wanted to understand, *needed* to understand, so he stayed as still as he possibly could.

It was a strange feeling, knowing that you couldn't move yet not actually being bound. It was a suffocating feeling, actually making Kurt feel a little claustrophobic despite being in the middle of a large room. His brain kept sending him messages to twitch his feet or sniff his nose or move his shoulder, but he had to hold them all back. This body wasn't his. This body wasn't his. He needed to be still, because this body wasn't his and 'Master' wanted him still.

God, it even sounded crazy in his head.

"When will Master come back?" Kurt questioned, glancing up at Dave.

Dave shrugged. "You don't know, Sir. It could be in one minute, it could be in three hours. You have to shut down the part of your mind that worries about that. There's no point on being on the edge, Sir. Master will come back when Master wants to, and that's all you need to know. Until then, you stay, you obey, you wait. You have to stop counting the minutes and let it all flow together. Slaves don't have the right to know the time."

Kurt gave a sharp laugh, trying his best to hide just how vulnerable he felt lying here naked, unable to move, with his knee starting to ache and his ear still itching like hell and having absolutely no idea when he'd be able to move again. If he was *ever* able to move again.

Kurt blinked. Where the hell had that come from? Of course he'd be able to move again. Master would come again eventually. He wouldn't be here forever. Right?

Okay, that was an even more ridiculous thought. 'Master' didn't even exist, so obviously he'd be able to move again. This wasn't like that fucking dream where his body literally wasn't his to move, obeying 'Master' on its own. This was just a little game. And if it was a little nerve-wracking, well, he could handle it. Because he would totally be able to move again. Yeah.

Kurt guessed Dave had sensed his tension, because the slave began to speak in a conversational tone. "When I was a child slave, Trainer would use cellophane to bind my body, wrapping it around and around and around like a mummy, Sir."

Dave's words were distracting, albeit somewhat disturbing, and Kurt latched on to them, not really wanting to spend any more time contemplating his lack of control over his own body.

"You would be surprised how strong twenty layers of cellophane is, Sir. I couldn't move at all. Before he wrapped my face, he would put earbuds in to play white noise and blind me with a rag. He would cut a hole at my nose so that I could breathe, and then he would leave me."

"Leave you?" Kurt whispered, a shiver of fear running through him at the thought of being left alone bound head to toe, blind and deaf. Even the powerlessness he'd felt in the dream was nothing next to that.

"Yes, Sir. At first I would count the minutes and strain my ears to hear something, anything over the white noise. I would convince myself that I could see light through the blindfold and that Trainer would be back any second. The first time, he left me for an hour. The second, for twelve minutes. The third, for at least a day. I lost count. But it was then, that third time, that I realized I had to stop worrying, Sir. It was painful to lay there, hoping that the next second would be the one when he came back. So I stopped counting, stopped trying to time it, and accepted that Trainer would be back when it pleased him, and there was nothing I could do to change that. I was only hurting myself by worrying. Pretty soon, I couldn't tell you if I had been laying there for ten minutes or ten hours. The only way I could tell if I had been left for more than a day was when my bladder would fill up."

"That's horrible," Kurt said, feeling sick at the idea. "I can't believe he did that to you."

Dave shook its head. "But don't you see, Sir? I'm grateful for the way Master Karofsky trained me. A poorly trained slave might go to its first master scared of what will happen and spend its first year of service overcoming fears, being shuffled through a dozen master in the meantime. I'm grateful to Trainer, very grateful." Dave swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing. "Sir… Are you sure you want to play this game? I… I'm still not sure what you are going to get from it."

"Yes," Kurt said fiercely, Dave's gratitude for the sick shit he'd been through a sharp reminder of why Kurt was doing this to begin with. "Absolutely."

"Okay then, Sir," Dave said softly, mattress lifting as he slipped off the side. "Then I'm going now, Sir."

Wait, what? Kurt's heart sped up at the idea.

"What do you mean, leave? For how long?"

"Until Master is ready." There was a pained note to its voice. "I'll go now, and you will wait until he's ready for you." A pause. "Though, obviously, if you get sick of this, Sir, you can just get off the bed."

Working so hard to relax had definitely been a waste of time, because Kurt was suddenly tense all over. It took everything he had not to clench his hands in the covers for some small form of comfort. He couldn't move. This was his place. He was trapped here. He couldn't move.

Kurt couldn't tell what Dave was doing, couldn't roll his eyes enough to see without turning his head, but after a moment he heard the soft closing of the door. He let out a small whimper, then immediately felt ridiculous. It wasn't as if he was tied up, or wrapped in motherfucking cellophane. He could move if he goddamn wanted to.

Except that he'd sworn to himself he wouldn't.

Time seemed to go on forever. Kurt stared at the ceiling, his whole body tight. His mind kept screaming at him to stop this, to go ahead and move, to twist his knee so it wouldn't ache, scratch his ear, pop his back.

The A/C turned on with a click and cool air blew over Kurt's naked body, making him shiver.

He was on a bed, dammit, with a thick down comforter directly underneath him. Why would he just lie here, goosebumps all over his flesh? This was absurd. No, more than absurd, it was nuts.

Funny Girl. Hello, Dolly. The Owl and the Pussycat. The Way We Were. A Star is Born. The Main Event. All Night Long. The Prince of Tides. Yentl. Nuts. The Mirror Has Two Faces. On a Clear Day You Can See Forever. What's Up, Doc? For Pete's Sake.

Kurt knew his list was missing one or two movies, but he was too antsy to care. Rachel was the real Barbra buff, anyway. He was more of an Audrey Hepburn type. Old Hollywood glamour. But it was something to do, something to think about other than the fact that he couldn't move.

God, he wanted to scream. How long was Dave going to leave him here? It had to have been at least a half hour by now, maybe forty-five minutes. Kurt's entire body was itching to move. And a whole lot of it was just plain itching. Were there ants in this bed? He'd never wanted to scratch himself so much in his life. This was driving him crazy!

Tick-tock, tick-tock. Seriously, when was it coming back? Was it *ever* coming back? Maybe… maybe it wasn't. Maybe this was some kind of weird game where it didn't come back and Kurt had to lay here until he finally figured out that no one was coming for him. It didn't seem like a Dave thing to do, but it was possible, right? Why else would it have left him for so damn long?

He should move. Fuck this stupid exercise. The chastity device thing hadn't exactly turned out well, why should he have expected this to work? Laying here was a waste of time. He was cold and uncomfortable and it could be hours until Dave decided that their pretend Master was ready for Kurt.

No. No, he couldn't move. Dave had waited before. If a slave could do it, he could, right? He was not going to move. No way, no how. Except he really, really wanted to move.

"Hey, Sir."

Kurt jumped at the soft words. Oh, thank God. Dave appeared in his peripheral vision, reaching down to stroke Kurt's face gently. Kurt had never been so grateful to see someone in his entire life. "You did good, Sir."

Kurt swallowed hard, taking slow breaths as he tried to calm his nerves. Of course Dave had come back for him. He had been an idiot to think it wouldn't. "H-how long were you gone?" Kurt questioned, voice shaking a little. "What have you been doing this whole time?"

Dave gave a soft chuckle and settled down on the mattress next to Kurt. "I was right over there, in the corner, where you couldn't see me."

Kurt blinked, slowly realizing that he'd heard the door shut earlier, but he hadn't heard it open again. Tricky indeed. Dave hadn't left him alone at all.

"How long?" he asked again, wishing he could roll over and bury his face in Dave's lap. The rush of gratefulness he'd felt when Dave reappeared like some kind of savior was overwhelming.

"Um… About fifteen, no, sixteen minutes?"

What?!

"Sixteen minutes?" Kurt questioned, feeling truly shocked. "That… Just sixteen minutes?" How could that be possible? He was sure he'd been lying there *forever.*

"Yeah. I figured that would give Master time to shower." Dave frowned. "Should I have left you longer, Sir?"

"No," Kurt said a little too quickly. "That… That was good." Horrible was more like it. Though this warm feeling of relief was pretty nice.

"Did you want to continue, Sir?" Dave questioned, its tone making it obvious it didn't think this was a good idea. Kurt wasn't so sure, either.

Did he really want to continue? All he'd done so far was lay on a damn bed and he already felt emotionally exhausted. He didn't know how much more he was up for. But slaves didn't get to take breaks, did they? Kurt hadn't gotten a break in his dream and, conversely, Dave hadn't gotten any breaks from him in real life.

"Yeah, let's go on." Kurt took a deep breath, trying to collect himself. "What now?"

"Now you ask Master how he wants you," Dave said, running both hands nervously through its hair. This was obviously not easy for it, instructing its master on what to do. Kurt would have to be sure to reward it. "I just ask you out loud, Sir, because that's what you like, but when you're not as familiar with your master, you touch your thumb to your lips."

Kurt frowned. "I thought that was permission to speak."

"A finger to the lips is permission to speak, but a thumb to the lips is permission to ask a question." Dave paused, looking a little uncomfortable. "Or it *used* to be. Now it implies permission to ask a question related to mounting, so it's probably best not to make a slave use it during a black tie party or something, Sir. It's kind of like how a cock used to be a rooster, and now…" It blushed a little. "Know what I mean?"

"Yeah. I suppose slave etiquette is kind of its own language, huh?" Kurt said. "I guess maybe I should have at least read the book my grandfather gave me."

Dave shrugged. "I know you well enough to not need etiquette, Sir."

"So, I can move to put my thumb on my lips?"

"Yeah, that's kind of what slave signs are—the things you can do when you've otherwise been told to be still. Unless, of course, your master says not to signal him, either."

"I'm going to take a wild leap here and say that there aren't signs for things like 'Oh my God, that hurts!' or 'This is uncomfortable as hell'? "

Dave laughed. "No, Sir. Well, there is one that means that you're dying, but it's obviously for emergency use only."

Kurt's eyes widened. "What's that?"

"Uh, you're probably going to laugh, but…" Dave leaned over him and crossed its eyes.

Kurt's mouth dropped open and he did laugh a little. "Crossing your eyes? *That* means that you're dying?"

"Well, you can do it when bound and it looks weird enough to catch someone's attention." It frowned slightly. "Unless you're blindfolded or they can't see your face. Slave etiquette isn't exactly perfect."

"Well, I'll be sure to call an ambulance if I ever see you crossing your eyes." Kurt took a deep breath. "Okay, so, I touch my lips with my thumb?"

Dave nodded. "Yes, Sir. And then you won't speak again unless Master speaks to you, or if you touch your finger to your lips for permission."

Okay… But if he couldn't speak, how was he supposed to ask questions, how was he supposed to learn?

Dave could apparently read minds now, because it said, "I'll walk you through it, Sir. And if you want to ask a question, just touch your lips."

"Okay." Kurt slowly lifted a hand to his face—God it felt weird to finally be able to move—then touched his thumb to his lips.

"Lift your legs," Dave's voice was soft, but it still managed to sound like a command.

Kurt obeyed by bending his knees, then jumped as Dave gave him a light slap on the leg. It was too light to even really sting, but his slave still grimaced as it did it. He was *seriously* going to have to reward it for doing this for him.

"No. Bad!"

Uh-oh, it looked like Kurt was a bad dog. Seriously, he had to stop talking to Dave like it was an animal.

"Master wants you to lift your legs, up in the air. He can't mount you comfortably like this." Dave took a deep breath. "You lift them up in the air and pull them toward your chest as far as you can, knees bent." It touched Kurt's thighs, guiding his legs into the air as it spoke. Spread them apart as wide as you can…" Dave began to pull Kurt's legs apart. "No, wider than that." Kurt gritted his teeth as Dave spread his knees as far as they could possibly go. "And now you hold them like that, Sir."

Kurt started to reach out with his hands, but Dave caught them, pushing them back down.

"No hands. You just hold them in the air."

Oh, well, that was easy. Because there was nothing quite as comfortable as being on your back in a position that put as much stress as possible on your thigh and groin muscles. Not to mention that he looked ridiculous. Hell, Kurt already wanted to drop his legs and it had only been ten seconds. There was no way he was going to be able to hold them like this for more than a few minutes. Not without tearing something, that is.

Dave stared down at Kurt, eyes searching. "You can do it, Sir. It may seem like you can't, but it is possible. And if he thinks about it, Master may give you permission to rest your legs on his shoulders, Sir. Obviously you shouldn't put your whole weight there," it added quickly, "you should still use your muscles, but even that little bit of support can make a big difference."

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold up there. He could put his legs on his Master's shoulders if his Master happened to think about it? Well, what if he didn't think about it? Kurt was supposed to hold his legs up for an hour because something hadn't crossed some geezer's mind? That was horrible. He hadn't ever done that to Dave, had he?

Kurt wracked his brain, trying to think of all the times he'd mounted Dave in this position, which was pretty often. Had Dave ever set its legs on Kurt's shoulders? Kurt didn't have a clue, couldn't remember, which probably meant that Dave had always held itself in this position, thighs aching and trembling, when it could have rested them on Kurt. Kurt wouldn't have cared. He'd just never thought about it.

God, he was an ignorant fool.

Kurt's thighs were already shaking, the muscles trembling as he tried to keep his legs up and thighs wide. Everything in him screamed to just drop them, but he couldn't, could he? That wasn't his place. He had to keep them up like this, couldn't put them down because some bastard was too busy getting himself off to think about if Kurt was comfortable. God, he hadn't just neglected Dave's pleasure, he'd neglected its basic comfort.

"It's okay, Sir… You're doing good. I know it's hard, especially since your thigh muscles aren't strong like mine are, but think about how happy Master will be when he's finished. He'll be sleepy and glowing with pleasure, and it's all because you did good, Sir. What's a little discomfort to that?"

Kurt huffed at the irony words. Oh, goody. His Master would be happy while he'd be aching like hell. Now that's what he called a reward.

"Okay, Sir, I… he… Master… is going to climb on top of you now, okay? Just one second…" Dave climbed off the bed, heading for the bathroom. A second later it returned, Kurt's pink washcloth in its hand. What was it going to do with that?"

His slave climbed on the bed and moved between Kurt's legs, which he was now fighting desperately to keep up. They kept slipping down a few inches, then he'd jerk them back up, then they'd drop down again. Everything in him was screaming to just let them drop, but he had to hold them up. He had to, if nothing else, than as a pitiful attempt at an apology for all the times he'd made Dave do this.

"Okay, Sir," Dave said, reaching for Kurt's legs. "You can rest them on Master's shoulders now."

Kurt dropped his legs onto Dave's shoulders with a sigh of relief, then forced himself to pull them up a tiny bit, remembering what Dave had said about not putting his full weight down. It was hard, though, so hard.

"Remember to thank Master for letting you rest like that, even if only in your head, and make a note to do something extra for him to try and repay him."

Oh, you had to be kidding him. He was supposed to be so grateful for this scrap of kindness that he would silently sing his asshole Master's praises?

"And now I'm going to cover your face up, okay?"

Wait, what the fuck?

Kurt made a surprised sound as the washcloth dropped over his face, effectively blinding him. "What?"

He felt another of Dave's hesitant, light slaps on his thigh. "You don't speak during mountings unless you're told to, Sir. Remember?"

Yeah, yeah, he remembered. But why the fuck had Dave putting a freaking washcloth over his face? Where did he get the idea to—

Kurt's eyes widened as a memory came rushing back to him. He'd been mounting Dave and, God, it had felt so good. Then he'd started thinking things, things that weren't right, things that weren't normal, about how much he cared about the slave, how much he wanted to be with it, how much he, oh God, *loved* it, and when he couldn't take it any more he'd tossed a washcloth over its face. He'd done it a few times, actually. Okay, more than a few. Had Dave figured out why he did it? Was this Dave's strange way of saying it cared about Kurt, too? Kurt didn't know, but he was pretty sure he was about to find out.

"Be careful that the washcloth doesn't fall off, Sir," Dave said in a quiet voice. "Master should be able to pretend he's with someone he likes, someone attractive." Its voice caught a little. "Not that you aren't attractive, Sir, but you know what I mean. You also have to be sure that you don't make any sounds that would ruin his pleasure by reminding him what he's mounting." Its voice cracked again, and this time Kurt heard a sniffling sound. "You need to be the body for Master's fantasy so that he can be happy, and be grateful that you can give him that."

Oh, dear Lord, no. Surely it didn't think that was why he covered its face, did it? It sounded so sad, sadder than Kurt had ever heard it, and suddenly Kurt couldn't take this any more. He could be still until he wanted to scream, he could force himself into uncomfortable positions until his muscles popped, but he couldn't lay here with a washcloth over his face being as silent as possible while his slave basically confessed that it wasn't good enough and it knew it never would be.

Seriously, did Dave really think that was why he covered its face? So that he could pretend to be with someone better because Dave wasn't good enough? And had it really talked itself into believing it was grateful for the chance to be a living blow up doll? That it was *lucky*?

Kurt grabbed the washcloth off his face and threw it aside as hard as he could, a tear running down his cheek.

Dave's eyes widened and it quickly slipped Kurt's legs off its shoulders. "Master, what's wrong?"

Kurt just shook his head, not knowing what to say. How did you explain to the slave who'd served you faithfully for six fucking years that every hardship it had suffered for its master had only occurred because said master was an ignorant fucking idiot who couldn't see past the end of his nose?

"Dave, that's not why I put the washcloth over your face," Kurt said hoarsely. "I'm not pretending I'm with somebody else. I like being with you, pet." After his dream the nickname should have left a bad taste in his mouth, but Dave had been right. He associated the word with all the love he felt for Dave. Kurt cupped the slave's face in his hands, staring into its eyes. "I always like being with you, David. Who else would I want to be with?"

Dave pulled away from Kurt's hands, looking confused. "You wanted to be with Mr. Finn, Master. And—" Its eyes danced off to the side then back again. "A-and Mr. Sam, of course. I can understand that, Master. I know my body…" Dave blinked rapidly, like it was holding back tears. "I know this body isn't pleasing to you, or this face." It lifted a hand, resting it on its cheek. "I honestly don't know why Trainer Karofsky chose a slave boy who would obviously grow up to be so fat and ugly. Maybe because I was always bigger than other kids and so he could start my training earlier without physically damaging me? It was never my place to ask. I wish I could change how I look for you, Master, and I would if I could." It sniffled. "But I can't, so I'm more than happy to do all I can to help you pretend you're with someone you find attractive."

"Dave… You're not fat and ugly!" Kurt shook his head in disbelief. "You're very handsome, puppy."

"You don't have to be kind, Master," Dave said, pretty much looking like it wanted to die. God, how long had his slave been feeling like this? "Fat, chubby, ogreish, bearish, hairy, pudgy, sweaty, smelly, bulging, oafish, oversized—"

"Dave, please stop," Kurt said, gut wrenching as he realized that Dave was parroting back just about every mean thing he'd ever said to it. "I am a bitch, Dave. Seriously, and I don't mean that in a sassy way. Sometimes I am a total, freaking bitch. It's not right, but I am. I mean, think about all the things I've said about Rachel Berry's clothes or Jacob Ben Israel's pube-like hair or Mr. Schue's love life or Mercedes' eating habits. All those things were wrong to say, but I said them because I was feeling bitchy. I think you're very attractive Dave, and trust me when I say the last thing in the world I would want to do is to cover your face up while mounting you so I don't have to look at you." Kurt shuddered at the idea. It was so, so sick, yet Dave seemed to think it was fine and dandy. What did that say about the kind of master Kurt was?

"Please, Master," Dave said, head bowed and shoulders hunched, "you are a good and kind Master, but you don't have to pretend anymore." It looked back up and Kurt saw tears streaming down its cheeks. "I've accepted it, Master. I want you to be happy, to have the slave you deserve. And I'm going to do everything to I can to make sure you're happy, Master Kurt."

Dave reached out, grabbing Kurt's hands. "I don't care where I end up, Master, as long as I know that you're happy. I wish I could make you happy," he let out a choked sob, "I swear I've spent every single minute of every single day trying to make you happy, Master. And I will until the day I go up for sale. No, even after that. If I ever get the chance to do something for you, I will. You'll always be my Master in my heart, even after I'm gone."

Okay, whoa, hold up. After it was *gone*? Oh dear God, was it *dying* or something? Kurt's heart sped up. What the hell was going on here? This was way beyond some fucking washcloth. Dave had always been a perfect slave, but in the past few days it had shouted at Sam, freaking attacked Mercedes, disobeyed Kurt about a thousand times, and broken into tears over and over again. It was as if all the strange behavior and the emotional outbursts of the past week was finally come to a head, and Kurt still didn't know what the fuck was going on.

"What do you mean, after you're gone?" Kurt asked quietly, wrapping an arm around Dave and pulling the slave close to him. "Where are you going, puppy?"

Dave shook its head, more tears spilling down its cheeks. "I don't know, Master. You know I don't know. It's not my decision."

Kurt tipped the slave's chin up, forcing it to look him in the eye. "I don't understand. What's not your decision, pet?"

Dave sniffed, using his shoulder to wipe off the tears on his cheek. "Where I'll be going after you replace me with Mr. Sam, Master."

Kurt's eyes widened, mind working madly as all the insanity began to fall into place, leaving him seeing every thing his slave had said or done in the past week in a new, horrifying light. A new, horrifying light that could pretty much be summed up in two words:

Oh, *shit*.


	19. Ch 19: Forbidden Acts

****If you would like to read this on my livejournal instead of the evil ff net, you can find it at****

**** ****pucktheperv +DOT+ livejournal +DOT+ com +SLASH+ tag +SLASH+ bornthisslave********

o o o****  
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**Author's Notes: **And now we have... a plot? Whoaness. ;P

o o o

**Chapter 19: Forbidden Acts  
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And any who declares their soul one with their slave shall becometh a slave, bound forever by the will of the gods and the Families for their treason against their ancestors. This shall be called the Law of Reanimus, pardonable only by the High Magistrate of the council himself.

—Law of the Hundred Houses, Chapter 8, Section 3, Paragraph 6

_.  
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"Master Kurt?" Dave asked in a small voice, wiping what was left of his tears on the back of his hand. "Are you okay?"

His Master just continued to stare at him, face pale and eyes wide with shock.

"Master," Dave said more urgently, leaning forward. "What's wrong?" His hand hovered near Master's cheek, not quite touching.

"Dave…" Master shook His head, looking like He'd seen a ghost. "I… I… You…"

"What?" Dave questioned, growing more worried by the second. "Talk to me, Master."

Too fast for Dave to even comprehend, Master Kurt was straddling his lap, face about an inch away from His slave's, eyes flashing with… anger? "Are you out of your goddamn mind?!"

Dave flinched, hunkering back. "Wh-what?"

"Oh my God, David!" A hand came down on his shoulder, but lightly, not a true strike. "Are," smack, "you," smack, "out," smack, "of," smack, "your," smack, "mind?!" smack. "Argh!"

Master collapsed against him then, burying His face in Dave's shoulder.

"Master, I don't understand," Dave said, stomach twisting a little at the display. What had he done now?

The boy leaned back, shaking His head in disbelief. "Of course you don't, 'cause you're a big doofus who needs a smack upside the head!"

Dave's mouth opened and shut. "Ah… okay. I still don't understand, Sir."

Master let out a loud sigh then caught Dave's head in His hands, pulling them close together again. "David, I want you to listen to me very carefully," he said, voice low and husky. "Okay?"

Dave nodded as best he could with Master's hands on his face. "Yes," he whispered. "I will, Master."

"Good," Master Kurt replied in that same low voice. "Because I just want to be clear NO ONE'S REPLACING YOU, DAVID!"

The sudden shout made Dave jump in the air a little, eyes wide. "Wh-what, Master?"

"Oh, did you not hear me?" Master questioned, raising an eyebrow. "Because I was under the impression I just yelled it in your face!" He shook His head, a look of annoyance coming over His face. "You're not going to be sold to anyone, Dave, and you're sure as hell not going to be replaced! Do you really think I want Sam 'whiner' Evans living in my goddamn bedroom? Hell, no! You're my most precious possession, David, which is saying something considering how big of a shopaholic I am!" His voice caught and He turned His head away, eyes bright. "This whole time, you thought I was going to sell you?"

Dave just stared at him, couldn't do anything else. The things Master was saying, they couldn't be right. He'd *said*… he'd said…

Dave blinked, suddenly realizing he couldn't remember when, exactly, Master Kurt had stated that He was replacing Dave with Mr. Sam. But either way, He deserved to have Mr. Sam. He deserved better than Dave. "You deserve better than me, Master," Dave said miserably, dropping his head. "You deserve Mr. Sam—"

"Oh, I deserve a dumb-as-a-rock boy with a bad bleach job and an orangey tan?" Master Kurt questioned prissily. "Good to know you think so highly of me. I don't want Sam, David! I don't want any other slave! If I wanted another damn slave, I could go buy one right now! Don't you think that my grandfather would get me any slave I wanted? It's not like I'm stuck with you, David!" He paused, swallowing hard. "I care about you. That's why I want you around. Because I care. More than care."

"B-but you've wanted Mr. Sam since you first met him—"

"Would you please stop calling him 'Mr. Sam'?" Master Kurt snapped. "He has the disposition of a toddler, I don't think you need to go all 'Mister' with him. Just because the guy is cute doesn't mean that I'm going to replace you with him. He's not exactly an upgrade, if you hadn't noticed. Sullen, pouty, mercurial… Not my thing."

"Mercury all?" Dave questioned with a frown, making Master roll His eyes.

"Mercurial. Verb. It means moody. Add it to your vocab."

"He's much more attractive than I am," Dave said softly, dropping his eyes.

His Master snorted. "It you find bitchy and high maintenance attractive. I'm bitchy and high maintenance enough for the whole freaking continent. I don't need another me in this house!" He reached out, grabbing Dave's hand. "I don't *want* Sam, pet! I want you!"

Tears were started to rise in Dave's eyes and it was getting hard to blink him away. "But you hate the way I look. How can I please you if you don't like the way I look? You shouldn't have to spend every mounting pretending you're with someone else."

Master Kurt let out a sigh. "I don't hate the way you look, Dave," He said softly, not quite meeting Dave's eye. "That's not why I covered up your face, puppy."

"Then why?" Dave asked desperately. "Please, Master, I don't understand."

Master took a deep breath, running two fingers across His bangs like He did when He was nervous. "Sometimes… Sometimes I feel things about you that I'm not supposed to." A tear ran down His cheek and Dave reached out, catching it on his thumb. "I really care about you, pet, more than you're supposed to care about your slaves, I think." He choked slightly. "A lot more, and I don't always know what to do about it."

"Master," Dave said seriously, "you know I would never, ever for an instant, stand in the way of you having a real relationship."

Master Kurt laughed sadly. "I know you wouldn't, not on purpose. But the truth is…" His voice caught again and another tear ran down His cheek. "Sometimes I don't think I *want* any relationship but ours."

Fear shot through Dave's chest at the words. No. There was no way. Absolutely not. "Master," he said in a soft voice, "please tell me you're not saying…"

The boy took a deep, steadying breath like He was working up the courage to speak, then He raised His head, meeting Dave's eyes straight on. "Sometimes I think I'm in love with you."

'_Kyle Banks of the House of Sulpicia has been stripped of his titles today as a result of announcing his engagement to his personal slave on Facebook. He will be re-registered as a slave under the Law of Reanimus and sold at auction tomorrow evening at four o'clock. His family has stated their intentions to purchase him, however, the enemies of the House of Sulpicia have shown great interest in taking him for their own.'_

"No," Dave said, voice flat and hard. "No, Master, do *not* say that."

"But it's true," Master Kurt said, looking miserable. "I love you."

"Master!" Dave said in shock. "You can't! That's not what slaves are *for*, Master. You know how that ends, how it always ends! Remember Elite vs. Banks? SLAP vs. Newman? Fucking Elite vs. Westonmoore? He was nine years old and they took him away and sold him for giving Valentines to a kitchen slave!"

'_Mikael Westonmoore, heir to the House of Verginia, has been accused of violating the Law of Reanimus by creating little paper hearts with poems for a kitchen slave, however, the family has declared these accusations to be 'tom foolery' and 'absurdity' due to Westonmoore's young age of only nine. His mother, Helis Westonmoore is quoted as saying "If little boys not even old enough to dress themselves are going to be held in contempt for befriending slaves, this has become a sad society indeed."'_

"All three of those were political moves," Master replied. "The other elites were targeting their families. It doesn't have to be like that, David." He leaned forward, a hopeful look on His face. "It could be different for us."

'_Donna Newman, formerly of the House of Marcus, died today hours after being accused of purposely bearing the child of a house slave. As of now police are calling it a suicide. The family released a statement to the media just an hour before the death stating that the House of Marcus was disowning Ms. Newman for her inappropriate actions and that, if she was found guilty under the Law of Reanimus, no attempt would be made to acquire her contract. We do not yet have details as to whether or not her unborn child, in its eighth month, survived.'_

"No," Dave said sharply. "It can't be different! Do you think Master Elijah has no political enemies? That the House of Claudia has no one against it? There is nowhere good that this kind of thinking can go!"

Master Kurt reached out, pulling Dave tight against Him. The slave could feel the smaller boy's tears on his neck. "Don't you love me, David?" He asked, letting out a little sob.

"Of course I do, Master," Dave said, voice earnest. "I love you, Master. That's what slaves do. We're here to love and serve you. And you can love me, as your slave. But you can't be *in* love with me, Master, you know that you can't."

"But what if I *want* to be in love with you, fuck them all?" Master Kurt questioned as He pulled back enough to see Dave's face.

"No," Dave said, grabbing his Master's arms and shaking him lightly. "The Law of Reanimus forbids it! You need to stop this master!"

"That's an archaic law," Master Kurt snapped. "Like sodomy still being illegal in some states. It's happened to three people in the last ten years, and all of them lived in goddamn Texas!"

"And if you keep saying things like this, it could be four people, Master!" Dave said, a tear running down his own cheek. "You could never be sure. I don't want to leave you, Master. I don't want to be replaced. But I don't want you to love me, either. Not when loving me could mean ending up like me!"

"David," Master said urgently, "David, listen to me, pet. It's an archaic law, utterly stupid, only used as an excuse for the highest elites to show off their power. I'm not one of them. I'm not an elite, not really. It won't matter for us. I can love you, you can love me, and no one will care."

"You can't…" Dave said in a quiet voice. "Master, you can't."

"Don't tell me what I can and can't do, David!" Master Kurt snapped back, fingernails digging into his own thighs as he ducked his head, letting out another choked sob. "I can't believe that all this time you thought I didn't want you."

Dave reached out, wrapping his arms around the smaller boy, holding Him close. "It's okay, Master Kurt," he murmured, hugging Him to his chest. "I love you, too, Master, but you can't do anything about it. We're not the same, you and me. You need to find someone like you to be with, Master. Don't you understand that? Someone to make love to, not to mount. There's no life with me. You need to find someone else to love."

Master Kurt pushed him away rather violently, eyes flashing. "Someone else? Is 'someone else' your solution to everything? I don't want someone else, Dave! I just want to stop all the lies and pretending! I can't love you because you belong to me? That makes no sense, Dave!"

"Master," he said desperately, "I'm only trying to protect you—"

"I can protect myself," Master Kurt snapped back. "I'm your Master! Who are you to tell me who I can and can't love?"

"Master, it's illegal!" Dave said, tears pouring down his cheeks. "I'm sorry, Master, but it can't happen. I won't let it happen. I'll run away before I let you risk your life like that!"

A shocked look came over his Master's face. "Are you actually saying you'd try and *leave* me?"

"I'd have no choice, Master!" Dave practically shouted. "My job is to keep you safe! You're so naive it's unbelievable. You're an heir to one of the Hundred Families, Master! Don't you think you have enemies who would love to take you down? And what about Master Elijah?"

"I don't care," Master Kurt replied harshly. "The elites are crazy! Who cares what they think? I've admitted it, now I want to be with you!"

"Master—" Dave's words were cut off as the doorbell rang through the house.

Master scowled deeply and crossed his arms over His chest, obviously simmering. "Go get the door." His voice was clipped.

"But Master—"

"GO GET THE DOOR, DAVID!" Master Kurt shouted, grabbing a pillow and slamming it as hard as He could against the bed, tears running down His face. "GO GET IT! I don't want to talk about this anymore!"

Dave swallowed hard as his Master buried His face in the pillow, shoulders shaking. "Master—"

The doorbell rang again and Dave gritted his teeth in annoyance. Who the hell was at their door? If it was the fucking Girl Scouts, he was going to throw a fit.

"I'll be right back, Master," Dave said as gently as he could. He reached out to put a hand on Master Kurt's shoulder then flinched as it was slapped angrily away.

"Don touch mah," came Master's voice, muffled by the pillow.

Dave bit his lip, staring for a long moment at Master Kurt, then stood with a heavy sigh. They could talk about this later, when Master wasn't feeling so emotional. Dave rubbed tiredly at his face. He should be overjoyed, hearing his Master declare that all Dave's worries about Mr. Sam had been unfounded, but the sick feeling was still there in his stomach. No, it was actually worse. An hour ago Dave had only been worried about what would happen to him. Now he was worried about what might happen to Master Kurt, and that was a thousand times more nerve-wracking.

He made his way down the stairs, trying desperately to come up with some way to convince Master Kurt just how insane this was, how *dangerous* it was. Dave knew his Master was a romantic, but this was absurd! He couldn't be in love with Dave. He was a slave, for God's sake! Master was just confused. Dave was the only person He'd ever been with intimately and He was confused. He didn't know what it was like with a freeman, so He thought what He felt for Dave was love. That was it. It had to be.

Dave grabbed the door handle, ready to tell off any Jehovah's Witnesses for interrupting him and his Master, but was surprised to see Mr. Sam's blonde head instead.

"Mr. Sam," Dave said in a low voice, a certain level of jealousy still churning within him as he looked at the attractive young man, no matter what Master Kurt had claimed. He took a deep breath, doing his best to relax. He wasn't being replaced. Mr. Sam wasn't going to take his Master away. It was going to be all right, for him anyway. If Master got it in His head to spread His affections for Dave around, however, that was going to be a whole 'nother story.

"Dave," Mr. Sam said, looking very uncomfortable. He tilted his body like he was trying to see inside the house and Dave leaned with him, blocking the boy's view with his larger body. "I, uh, is Kurt here?"

"Yes," Dave said flatly. "But now's not a good time, Mr. Sam. I'll tell Master to give you a call later tonight, okay?"

Mr. Sam didn't seem to hear him, lifting up on his toes to try and see *over* Dave this time. "Is Burt here?"

"Mr. Burt is at work," Dave replied, ready to shove this idiot off the steps so he could go back upstairs and try to talk some sense into Master Kurt.

"Okay, good," Mr. Sam said, making Dave frown. It was good that Mr. Burt was at work?

"What do you—"

"I'm sorry, Dave," Mr. Sam interrupted, a guilty look coming over his face. "I really, really am."

Dave's eyes widened as Mr. Sam pulled a small container from his pocket, letting out a scream as the boy sprayed it in his eyes, making them burn like fire. He stumbled, then let out another cry as he felt a sharp pain in his neck.

"Oh my God, DAVID!"

Dave blinked, trying to make sense of the screaming, but his mind felt slow and sleepy. Even the burning in his eyes was beginning to fade away…

"Dave, look at me! DAVE!"

Master Kurt's voice was the last thing Dave heard before he drifted off into nothingness.

o o o

Kurt awoke with a quiet groan, his whole body aching. He started to open his eyes then squeezed them shut again as the sudden light made his head pound. What was going on? Where was he? Why did he hurt all over?

His heart sped up as he opened his eyes again, forcing himself not to close them, headache be damned. He blinked several times, trying to clear his vision as he looked around, attempting to analyze the situation. On every side were thick metal bars, but it wasn't a cell. It was too small to be a cell. He could sit up in it, but he couldn't stand. A cage. He was in a cage. Why the hell was he in a cage?!

Kurt wracked his brain, trying desperately to remember what had happened. He… he'd been home, alone with his slave, and he had admitted to it that sometimes he thought he loved it. A rush of panic shot through him at the memory. Surely the elite couldn't have found out and taken him? No, there was no way. Even if they'd had his house bugged or something James Bond-ish like that, they wouldn't have had time to get him. But where was he?

There was a creaking sound and Kurt turned toward it, eyes narrowing as he watched a slim, blonde figure slip through a heavy metal door. Sam. It had been Sam. How could he have forgotten?! The doorbell had rung, Dave had gone to get it while Kurt was busy throwing a tantrum, and then Sam had drugged Kurt's slave right in front of him. And then drugged him, apparently, though he didn't remember that part.

"What the fuck is going on, Evans?" Kurt hissed at the other boy, grabbing at the bars of the cage. "What the hell have you done with me? And where's David?"

Sam cleared his throat, a rather terrified look on his face. Good. He should damn well *be* terrified, because Kurt was going to rip the over-tanned flesh from his bones when he got out of this cage. And he *would* get out of this cage.

"I-I'm so sorry, Kurt," Sam choked out, tears running down his cheeks. "I didn't have any choice! You know what they were going to do with me." He gave a little sob. "They were gonna rape me, Kurt! But the Emancipation League, they said that they could help me, if I helped them first. You understand, don't you Kurt? Please understand."

The Emancipation League? What the hell? Kurt's lip turned up in disgust. "Understand turning on the people trying to help you? No, I don't understand at all, you coward."

Sam's fists clenched at his sides. "You were the one who was going to send me to slave school! If it weren't for people like you, I wouldn't have been in this position at all!"

"What?" Kurt replied in disbelief. "You're trying to blame this on me? Your parents are the fools who took out a loan with your ass as collateral! All I've done is try and help you!"

"Yeah, well, if there weren't any elite at all, no one would be slaves," Sam snapped back, then he seemed to deflate, wrapping his arms around himself like he was cold. "I really am sorry, Kurt. But they promised, you're going to be fine. They're not going to hurt you."

"And what about David?" Kurt shot back. "Where's my slave, Evans?"

"Aw, isn't that cuuuute, Master wants to know where his slave boy is…"

Kurt's shoulders tightened at the purring resonance of the voice and Sam literally jumped in the air, eyes wide as he searched the room.

It wasn't that big of a place, in fact, it sort of reminded Kurt of the industrial refrigerator they had at his family's estate, minus the cold, of course. But there were wooden crates everywhere, making it feel extremely cramped.

"Shit," Sam muttered, face pale. "Y-your M-Master said you were supposed to go home."

Kurt frowned in confusion as he looked around the room, searching for any sign of where the voice had come from.

"Well, I guess he'll just have to punish me, won't he? Sounds fun."

Almost too fast to see, someone jumped out from behind a crate, making Sam scream and tumble to the floor. He scrambled backward, like prey from a predator, though the boy he was running from was at least five or six inches shorter than him.

Kurt couldn't help but gasp as the small boy turned, revealing one of the most beautiful faces he'd ever seen. His golden hair curled down to his waist and his bright blue eyes were so big on his delicate face that it made him look like a little doll. Well, if they made dolls with hundreds of long, thick scars running all over their bodies.

"Hello," the boy said, smirking rather evilly as he turned his attention to Kurt. "My name's Angel, and if I'm lucky, I'll get to kill you."

Kurt's breath caught as he remembered Dave's words from earlier. 'It looks like a tiny angel. It's the meanest, cruelest, most twisted thing I've ever met.' No way. That was way, way too coincidental. And why the hell would Master Clements kidnap him? The House of Claudia had no argument with his House.

"H-he's not g-going to die," Sam managed to choke out despite the fact that he was visibly shaking. "She… She promised."

"Promises, promises," the slave—Angel—said in a snide voice. "Her owners are fucking Ciceros. Why the hell would you believe anything the bitch says?" He sighed dramatically as he moved toward Kurt's cage, kneeling down in front of it. "Personally, I'll be glad when this business is all over with." It flashed its teeth and Kurt's eyes widened. Its incisors had been filed into points. "My Master says he'll break my ischium and then fuck me for ten hours if I mess with you, but I may be willing to risk it…"

"Your what?" Sam asked, voice shaky.

Angel gave him a withering look. "It's part of the pelvis, nitwit. Now how about you run along and leave me and this pretty little thing alone?"

"Sam, what's going on?" Kurt asked, deciding the best tactic was to ignore Angel entirely. "Please, tell me what's going on."

"You don't need to know what's going on, princess," came a female voice.

Kurt looked up, his eyes widening as he saw his fellow Glee Clubber stride into the room.

"S-Santana?" he said in disbelief. "What the hell?"

"Shut up, porcelain," she said in a bored sounding voice. "Pervert, get the fuck away from that cage. Beach Boy, get up off your ass. Are you really that scared of a little boy half your size with lips as red as his ass after Daddy gives him a spanking?"

Sam made a soft sound of fear as Angel flashed its teeth in his direction.

"Stop it," Santana commanded, kicking Angel as hard as she could. The slave went tumbling down onto the floor, laughing all the while.

"Where the hell am I?" Kurt demanded, glaring up at Santana. The girl looked as innocuous as ever in her pretty little Cheerios uniform, of course, Kurt had always known she was a shark. He just hadn't thought it went this deep.

"That doesn't matter," she replied. "All that matters is that you do exactly what we say, you know, if you want to live, that is."

"You wouldn't kill me," Kurt said confidently, shaking his head. "You may be a bitch, but you're not a killer."

"Well, maybe not a killer," Santana said, smiling with false sweetness, "but sometimes sacrifices must be made for the cause. Usually we go the martyr route, but if you make trouble, well, I'm sure we can set up a lovely little scenario where you try and force Ken doll here to do things that aren't very nice and he's forced to kill you to save himself."

"Whoa, what?" Sam demanded, eyes going wide. "That's not what I signed up for."

"Can we *please* kill the bleach king already?" Angel asked in an irritated voice. "His hair is hurting my eyes. It's offensive to the *natural* blondes in this room."

"Shut up, Sexathon. How about you run home to Dadda and leave this to me?" Santana snapped, glaring at the small boy.

Angel let out a loud snort. "Master told me to stay here and watch you. He thinks you are way too close to this to keep a clear head." It sneered. "Not to mention rather uppity about your place. Your Master should be ashamed."

"Her Master?" Kurt said, totally lost now. "What? Santana isn't a slave…" he trailed off at the angry look she was shooting Angel. "Wait, you're a slave?"

"Not like your little bitch is a slave," she snapped, eyes flashing. "D12 is a toy. My owners consider me their daughter. They're my momma and papi."

"I don't understand," Kurt said, mind racing as he tried to fit this insanity together into something that made sense. "And speaking of Dave, where the hell is he?" Fear shot through him. "I swear to God, Santana, if you hurt him…"

She waved a hand in the air, rolling her eyes. "Oh, relax, wittle Davey is fine, well, as fine as a mindless lug like him can be without Master around."

"Then what do you want? Money? My grandfather has plenty."

"Money," Angel said, smirking slightly. "Really? Come on. Does my Master look like he needs money? Just because the Lopez slave's Master is broke doesn't mean this about cash."

"My father is not broke," Santana snapped back. "He's a doctor! We live in a half a million dollar house!"

"If it's not money, then what?" Kurt snapped, not interested in hearing them argue. "What do you want from me?"

"From you?" Angel said, raising an eyebrow. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Which is why *I* think I should rip your throat out with my teeth right now. Master's fucked me with a broken pelvis before… It's not a load bearing bone, I'll be fine." It smiled viciously, sharpened teeth flashing.

Santana kicked it again, sending the small slave back to the ground then turned her attention to Kurt like Angel hadn't spoken at all. "Oh, but that's just it, Kurt." She knelt down before the cage, smiling coldly. "We *don't* need you, porcelain. We need your slave."

o o o

Dave groaned, clutching at his forehead as he blinked his way back into consciousness. The world was swimming around him, and his eyes were burning like mad, tears running down his cheeks.

What had happened? Had Trainer punished him? Had he done something wrong? The thought made him whimper. He must have done something horrible. Trainer only used drugs to punish him when he was very, very bad.

Except… He hadn't seen Trainer in years, and Master Kurt had never given him drugs. So why did he feel like he'd been shot up with sedatives?

He started to sit up, wincing when something dug into his neck. Dave felt around clumsily, grimacing as his hand caught on something. He pulled and there was a hypodermic needle in his hand. What the hell?

Dave forced himself into a sitting position, gasping. Where…? He looked around, trying to see through his tear-filled vision. The living room. He was in Master's living room. But where was Master?

It hit him all at once, images flashing through his mind, one after another. Master's confession. Their argument. Mr. Sam at the door, apologizing. Dave had been confused for a moment then pain, pain in his eyes. Master Kurt had screamed for him and then… then…

Oh, God, Master Kurt!

Dave sprang to his feet, exhaustion forgotten. "MASTER!" he shouted, running through the house. He began yanking open closets, looking under beds, anywhere, anywhere that Master Kurt could possibly be.

He took the stairs in about three steps, still yelling. "MASTER KURT!" He choked back a sob as he was confronted by empty room after empty room. "Master!" he cried, more of a moan than a shout this time.

A sudden ringing cut through the room and Dave jumped about a foot in the air as his pocket began to vibrate. What the fuck? His cellphone was still in Master Kurt's room…

Dave yanked the cellphone from his pocket, staring down at it with wide eyes. It was obviously a burner phone, probably picked up cheap somewhere, and the caller ID read 'unknown.' He flipped it open with shaking hands, swallowing hard as he brought it to his ear.

"H-hello?" His voice cracked.

"D12, we have your Master." The voice was electronically masked like in a fucking spy film, and Dave resisted the urge to throw it across the room in a fit of anger.

"Is this Sam? Because know this, boy. I am going to kill. TO KILL YOU!" Dave bared his teeth as he said it, several ideas for how he might go about making good on his promise flashing through his mind.

"Do you really think the Evans boy is smart enough for this, slave? If you want to see your Master again, I suggest you shut your mouth and listen like your Trainer taught you."

Dave hissed. "What do you want with my Master?"

"We don't want anything from your Master, slave," the voice said simply, making Dave pause. What the hell did they mean they didn't want anything from his Master?

"If you don't want anything from Master, why did you take him?!" Dave demanded angrily.

"Because we want something from you. Something we knew you'd never do without some… incentive."

What? Dave's brow furrowed in confusion. "I don't understand."

"We have an assignment for you, D12 of Trainer Karofsky. You will complete the assignment or your Master will face the consequences. Oh, and the Evans boy, too."

"I don't care what happens to that bastard," Dave snapped, vision blurring with fury at the mere thought of Sam Evans.

"Maybe not, but you're no killer. If you don't succeed, your Master and Evans are dead. If you do as you're told, well, then we can talk about what will happen next."

Dave shook his head. "What the fuck does that even mean? What's to keep you from killing Master anyway? For I know, he could already be dead!"

"That's just a risk you're going to have to take."

"Forget it," Dave snapped. "It's not happening. I'm going to contact Master Elijah and he'll take this to the police. You can't mess with an heir to the Hundred Families and get away with it!"

"I don't think you're going to do that, D12. You're too good of a slave, and you know what we can do to your Master. We don't have to kill him to hurt him, as you well know. In fact, why don't you take a look at a little video we've put together." There was a binging sound as the phone signaled that it had received a text message. "We will call back in ten minutes. We can discuss this then."

"Wait—" Dave cursed as the phone went dead. "Shit, shit, shit," he muttered as he clicked on the message. Inside was a video file. He took a deep breath, trying not to panic as he pushed 'play.'

Master Kurt appeared on the tiny screen, his face pale and frightened. "Hello, Dave," He said in a robotic voice that made it clear He was reading from something. "As you probably know by now, I have been taken. I order you to do exactly as they say and obey them completely. He paused, eyes flickering to the side. "What, am I not doing it right?" He snapped suddenly, obviously breaking character. "Why are you looking at me like that? SUE ME!"

Dave jumped at the familiar sound of a whip cracking. Master Kurt let out a scream as a shallow cut appeared on His cheek, blood dripping down His pale skin. Whoever was using the whip, they had skill. The cut wouldn't scar, wasn't deep enough to scar, but Dave knew it had to hurt like hell.

"SUE ME!" Master yelled again in a furious voice, but this time his eyes were straight on the camera. "Oh no, not saying what you want? Well, SUE ME, fuckers!"

Dave's brow furrowed. Something about the way Master Kurt was staring at the camera… It was like he was trying to tell Dave something with his eyes, but it was just out of reach. Master Kurt scowled, then began to talk in the robotic voice again. "Trainer Paul Karofsky is stopping in Lima before continuing to a show in Columbus. He will arrive tomorrow and will leave in three days. As you know, Trainer Karofsky travels with heavy security, especially now that he is up for the title of International Trainer of the Year 2012. But you, D12, were his prize. He will see you. He will see you, and then you will kill him."

Dave choked. What? This was absurd. They wanted him… to kill… his *Trainer*?!

His heart began to pound, blood rushing to his head as he stared at the now unmoving image of his Master now frozen on the screen, blood dripping down his cheek forever. No. This couldn't be happening. It *couldn't* be. He was supposed to choose between his Master and his Trainer?

The phone rang and Dave flipped it open, his pulse racing. "I can't," he said before anyone even had a chance to speak. "I can't do it!"

"You will do it, or your Master and his little blonde friend will die," the voice said coldly. "You have three days D12. If Karofsky is not dead by then, your Master dies in his place."

Dave forced down a sob. He needed to keep a clear head. It was the only chance they had. "Please, wait… Look, if I agree to do this, you have to agree to something for me."

"I don't think you're in the position to negotiate," the voice said.

Dave ignored it. He wasn't a fool. It was obvious that these people, whoever they were, needed him to do this. It was far fetched enough, sending in a slave Trainer Karofsky hadn't seen in years. He wasn't sure why they wanted the man dead, but if they had any other way, they'd use it. "I want proof of life, every six hours," he said, trying to keep his voice from shaking. "I'll text you a phrase, and I want Master Kurt to repeat it, then you text the video to me."

"I don't—"

"Agree or I swear to God, I will go to Master Elijah!"

"Fine," the voice snapped, sounding irritated even through the computerized overlay. "You'll have your proof of life. Now, I suggest you come up with something to tell your Master's father, because if anyone—and I mean *anyone*—finds out he's missing… Has Master Kurt ever used a remembrance whip on you, D12?"

Dave swallowed nervously. "That's your business why, exactly?"

"That's what I thought. Well, if anyone suspects anything, your Master is going to know how it felt when he took that whip to your flesh."

"Don't you dare!" Dave hissed, balling up his fist. "Don't you dare lay a finger on him!"

"Keep your end of the deal, and I won't have to. I'll speak to you in six hours. Goodbye, slave."

"No, wait—" The line went dead and Dave collapsed onto the carpet, burying his head in his hands. How could this be happening? This was ridiculous, like something out of a movie! His Master, kidnapped? Him, an impromptu assassin? How the hell was he going to pull this off? If he killed Trainer, he would die in return. There was no way he would get away with it. But if that happened, how could he be certain that Master was safe?!

Who could possibly want Trainer Karofsky dead this badly? Maybe a fellow trainer who wanted him out of the competition? Dave didn't know. And why, why, why had they decided to use Dave to get to him? A tear ran down his cheek. It was his fault that his Master was in these fuckers' hands, and the last thing he'd told Master Kurt was that loving Dave would get him hurt. Apparently just being around Dave was enough to get him hurt.

There was a sound of a garage door opening and Dave stiffened, eyes growing wide. Oh, God, Mr. Burt was home. What was he supposed to do? Should he tell him? No, that video had been proof enough that they were willing to use a whip on Master Kurt. A remembrance whip could destroy a person. He couldn't risk it, not now. But what could he possibly tell him? Dave was never going to be able to convince Mr. Burt that Master Kurt had gone anywhere without him. Except… There was one place…

Dave swallowed hard, eyes flickering toward the garage. He had to try. It was his only chance. He jumped to his feet and sprinted to Master Kurt's bedroom, grabbing his Master's cellphone and clicking quickly through the Favorites.

"Hello? Kurt?" came a feminine voice.

"Miss Mercedes," Dave said in a low voice. "It's Dave. I have to tell you something and I don't have much time. I need your help and, without it, Master Kurt might be dead." He took a deep breath, not really wanting to add this but knowing it might help persuade her to his side. "And Sam Evans, too."

There was a pause before the girl spoke again, sounding upset. "Is this a joke, Dave? Because it's *not* funny!"

"It's no joke, Miss Mercedes," he said, talking as fast as he could. "Someone," Sam *fucking* Evans, he added silently, "drugged me and took Kurt. They left me a phone, sent me a video of Kurt." He gritted his teeth. "And they said they have Evans, too." He could fill her in on the rest later. Insulting her golden boy wouldn't help him now. "I don't have time to explain, but they want me to do something real bad in the next three days or they'll kill them both. I'll come over to your house and tell you everything, but right now I need you to call Mr. Burt and tell him that you and Master Kurt decided to go visit a friend or go camping or *anything* to explain why he won't be around for the next three days."

"What? Kurt's been kidnapped and you want me to lie about it? Are you crazy?! And even if I did, they're school days, Dave!" Miss Mercedes exclaimed, sounding shocked. "How am I supposed to explain that? We need to go to the police, right now! The longer we wait, the less chance they can find him."

"Miss Mercedes, please," he begged, running a hand nervously through his hair. "Look, I will come to your house right now and show you the video so you can see that these people are serious. But I need you to trust me, right now, that this is the best thing to do, okay? Please, please, please, Miss Mercedes." He gave a little sob. "If I can't convince you, then I'll go to the police, okay? But right now, please, call him. Tell him… tell him that Glee Club was suddenly invited to an out of state competition! Anything! Then I'll come to your house and, if I can't convince you that this is best, I swear, I'll go to the cops." A flat out lie, but Miss Mercedes didn't have to know that. If he had to knock the girl unconscious and keep her in a damn closet, he would, if it meant saving Master Kurt. "Please, Miss Mercedes!"

He held his breath for what felt like forever before Miss Mercedes spoke, her voice low and frightened.

"Okay. Okay! I will, oh my God, oh my God! But I want you over here, now! I want to see this video!" She let out a loud moan. "Oh my God, Kurt… How could this be happening? What do they want you to do? What *could* you do? You're only a slave!"

"I'll explain it all soon," Dave said hoarsely, eyes flickering toward the door as he heard Mr. Burt calling his Master's name. "But right now, we need an alibi."

"Okay," Miss Mercedes whispered. "Okay. But get your ass over here, Dave, now!"

Dave hit the 'end' button just as Mr. Burt stuck his head into the room.

"Hey, Dave," he said, smiling his usual laid back grin. "You seen my son?"

"Uh, I, uh think he was doing something with Miss Mercedes," Dave said, trying to ignore the sweat dripping down his face. God, he must smell like shit. His under arms were drenched in persperation and his hands felt like he'd dunked them. "He mentioned something about—"

Burt's phone went off and Dave nearly sighed in relief as the older man pulled it out, raising his eyebrow. "Oh, there she is right now." He smiled at Dave again, bringing his phone to his ear.

"Hey, Mercedes, seen my son lately?"

Dave swallowed hard, digging his fingernails into his palms.

"Oh, really? Wow, that's awesome! Wait, you've already *left*? That really is last minute. Okay. All right, well, tell Kurt to give me a ring when he gets the chance. Good luck at the show."

"Was that Miss Mercedes?" Dave asked awkwardly as Mr. Burt lowered his phone, hoping his nervousness wasn't totally transparent.

"Yeah," Mr. Burt said, putting his cell up. "Looks like my son's left you behind for the call of Hollywood. The Glee Club got invited to compete in Los Angeles."

"Wow," Dave said, doing his best to look shocked. "Kind of short notice, isn't it?"

"Seriously," Burt muttered, shaking his head. "But then, what's normal with that Glee Club?"

"Yeah," Dave agreed, silently thanking whatever god listened to slaves that Mr. Schue's teaching was erratic enough to make something like this relatively plausible. Mr. Burt would probably want to talk to Master Kurt soon, but he'd bought himself some time. "Mr. Burt, since Master Kurt is out of town, I think I should report to the estate. It… It's almost time for my Discipline." Actually, he'd just been to Discipline last week, but Mr. Burt didn't know that.

The man nodded, actually looking mildly relieved. He had never been entirely comfortable being around Dave by himself. "That sounds good, Dave."

Dave forced himself to smile as the man left the room, no doubt headed to make himself some supper. The second he was out of sight, Dave let it fall off his face, pulse speeding up again. It was time for a visit to Miss Mercedes.

A tear rolled down Dave's cheek as he caught sight of a photo of the two of them sitting on the desk. Master Kurt was smiling brightly, dressed in a top hat and corset, while Dave sat at His feet, gazing up lovingly at his Master. Gazing lovingly at the Master he'd yelled at for professing His own love to Dave.

He would save Master Kurt. He would. Because if his Master died, then Dave wanted to die with him.


End file.
